NEARA  WHOLE  GW  FULL 


EDWARD   W,  TOWNSEND 


FRED  LOCKLEY 

RARE  WESTERN  BOOKS 


PORTLAND.  ORE 


"I" 


NEAR  A  WHOLE  CITY  FULL. 

BY 

EDWARD  W.  TOWNSEND, 


AUTHOR    OF 


"A    DAUGHTER   OF    THE    TENEMENTS,"   "MAJOR 
MAX,"  "CHIMMIE  FADDEN,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

F.  A.  NANKIVELL. 


NEW    YORK: 

COPYRIGHT.     1897,    Br 


G.    W.     Dillingham     Co.,    Publishers, 

MDCCCXCVII. 

[All  rights  reserved.} 


p 

7  I  2. 


To  my  friend  CHARLES   W.  GOULD, 
whose  wise   kindness   has   been    a   con 
tinual  encouragement  to  me,  this  book 
is  dedicated  with  affectionate  regard. 

E.  W.  T. 

New  York,  1897. 


M  8008 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Just  Across  the  Square  ...       9 

A  Rose  of  the  Tenderloin       .  .     35 

Ann  Eliza's  Triumph      .          .  .61 

The  Man  Outside  .         .         .  -77 

The  Dog  on  the  Roof     .          .  .89 

Guardians  of  the  Law     .          .  .    103 

A  Dinner  of  Regrets       .          .  .   113 

The  Night  Elevator  Man's  Story  .    T29 

By  Whom  the  Offence  Cometh  .    141 

The  Reward  of  Merit      .          .  .    159 

The  House  of  Yellow  Brick    .  .    175 

The  Little  Life  of  Pietro         .  .    189 

When  a  Man  Judges      .         .  .  203 

Polly  Slanguer's  Trousseau    .  .   247 

[7] 


JUST  ACROSS  THE  SQUARE. 


WHEN  Philip  arrived  at  the  Grand 
Central  Station  and  left  his  car,  holding 
fast  to  his  traveling  bag  in  spite  of  the 
efforts  of  a  red-capped,  importunate 
person  to  relieve  him  of  it,  he  found  that 
his  heart  was  thumping  as  if  he  had 
just  finished  a  hundred-yard  foot-race. 
He  discovered  at  the  same  time  that 
he  was  laughing  aloud  and  he  brought 
himself  sharply  to  "  attention,"  and 
actually  stood  still  for  several  seconds, 
determined  to  assume  at  least  an  out 
ward  calm  before  he  really  set  foot  in 
his  Mecca,  the  goal  of  his  ambition, 
his  fairyland — New  York. 

[ii] 


1,2 


A. 'WHOLE  CITY  FULL. 


He  repeated  to  himself  the  instruc 
tions  he  had  written  down  as  he  had 
received  them  from  a  student  friend 
who  had  lived  in  New  York,  and  add 
ed  :  "  This  is  Forty-second  street, 
and  I  must  face  it  and  look  for  a  horse- 
car  going  to  my  right.  Hello,  there  is 
one."  He  bucked  through  the  inter 
fering  line  of  cabmen,  and  boarded  the 
car,  saying,  "  And  keep  in  that  car  until 
it  passes  underneath  the  elevated  car 
line."  He  was  smiling  within  in  com 
plete  rapture,  but  maintained  a  sober 
mien  until  he  saw  a  grim,  Egyptian- 
looking  pile,  and  then  he  blurted  out 
"  Fifth  avenue  !" 

He  could  not  help  that.  The  joy  of 
discovering  that  the  Murray  Hill  reser 
voir  was  so  like  the  pictures  of  it  he 
had  studied  as  to  assure  him  of  the  lo 
cality,  overcame  his  outward  gravity, 
and  until  Sixth  avenue  was  reached  he 


JUST    ACROSS    THE    SQUARE.  13 

frankly  smiled  back  at  the  smiling  pas 
sengers,  and  gave  up,  with  a  sense  of 
relief,  the  effort  not  to  appear  a 
stranger. 

Then  the  elevated  !  He  could  have 
drawn  working  plans  for  the  construc 
tion  of  an  elevated  railroad,  including  a 
station,  and,  indeed,  he  had  done  so  in 
class  work — Philip  was  an  architectural 
draughtsman — yet  the  first  sight  of  the 
actual  structure  was  a  surprise  and 
delight  to  him. 

"  Ride  to  Bleecker  street,"  he  said, 
reciting  his  written  instructions  when 
he  was  seated  in  a  downtown  train. 
Then  the  sights  and  sounds  of  that 
raised  road  ride  !  His  eager  eyes 
caught  the  platform  sign  "  Bleecker 
street,"  or  he  would  have  missed  his 
station  ;  his  ears  not  being  educated  to 
identify  the  information  intended  by 
the  gateman's  shouted  "  'Ker  street  !" 


NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 


He  had  to  walk 
only  a  short  distance 
north  to  reach  the 
lodgings  he  hoped 
to  secure  on  South 
Washington  Square, 
yet  in  that  short 
walk  he  recognized 
several  landmarks 
described  in  his 
friend's  directions.  At  the  sign  of  the 
Cafe"  au  Chat  Noir  he  stopped  and 
saluted  hilariously,  for  the  restaurant 
of  the  Black  Cat  figured  frequently  in 
his  friend's  most  buoyant  tales  of  bo- 
hemian  life  in  New  York. 

He  tramped  on  elate,  and  literally 
quivered  with  happiness  at  the  first 
sight  of  the  beautiful  and  stately  white 
marble  arch.  That  identified  the  Square 
to  him,  and  he  soon  found  the  lodging 
house  he  sought. 


JUST    ACROSS    THE    SQUARE.  15 

The  Janitor  had  received  his  letters, 
and  told  him  he  could  have  the  very 
room  his  art-student  friend  had  occu 
pied  ;  and  when  he  was  in  it  and  alone, 
and  had  taken  one  look  out  of  the  back 
window — seen  the  one  grimy  black- 
limbed  tree,  in  the  grimy  black  court, 
the  back  windows  facing  him  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  court,  and  a  young 
Italian  woman  at  one  of  those  windows, 
all  just  as  his  friend  had  told  him— 
Philip  shouted  and  danced  for  joy  until 
the  Italian  looked  over  and  smiled. 
Whereupon  he  promptly  threw  her  a 
kiss.  A  closer  examination  of  his  room 
disclosed  graphic  evidences  of  his 
friend's  former  occupancy— frequently 
in  the  form  of  caricatures  of  the  Janitor 
— and  these  so  excitingly  thrust  into  his 
understanding  that  he  was  actually,  and 
at  last,  a  part  of  the  life  of  which  he 
had  heard  so  much  and  dreamed  so 


1 6  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

long,  he  was  as  close  upon  hysterics  as 
a  healthy  athlete  of  twenty-three  ever 
approaches. 

When  his  trunk  came  he  put  on  his  best 
street  clothes,  and  was  surprised  to  find 
that  they  looked  a  trifle  odd,  not  quite 
so  fine  and  fashionable  as  they  seemed 
when  he  last  wore  them  at  home.  He 
took  his  one  letter  of  introduction  and, 
as  he  went  out  of  the  house,  stopped 
and  showed  its  address  to  the  Janitor. 
When  that  austere  person  read  it,  he 
instantly  altered  the  manner  he  had  at 
first  adopted  toward  the  new  fourth- 
flight-back  lodger. 

"  Do  you  know  where  that  is  ?" 
Philip  asked. 

"  Sure,  sir ;  that  is  just  across  the 
Square.  That  is  North  Washington 
Square,  don't  you  see,  sir,  and  this  is 
South  Washington  Square." 

Philip    laughed.       "  That's    my    first 


JUST    ACROSS    THE    SQUARE.  17 

slip,"  he  said.  "  I  did  not  relate  the 
two  sides  of  the  Square.  I  guess  I 
thought  the  gentleman  lived — why,  in 
quite  a  different  part  of  the  city,'*  and 
he  glanced  about  at  his  dingy  surround 
ings. 

"  Well,  it  is  a  very  different  part  of 
town,  in  one  way,  sir.  It's  very  swell 
just  across  the  Square,  and  Mr.  Gun- 
ton,  the  gentleman  your  letter  is  to,  is 
the  richest  one  on  the  row.  I  often 
see  him." 

Philip  blithely  went  on  his  way  and 
before  he  had  reached  the  arch,  toward 
which  he  was  irresistibly  drawn,  he 
began  to  realize  the  difference  between 
the  upper  and  lower  sides  of  the  Square. 
The  big,  sedate  red  brick  mansions 
fronting  on  the  North  side  affirmed 
themselves  even  to  his  unsophisticated 
eyes  to  be  the  homes  of  established 
wealth. 


1 8  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

"  And  I  am  sure  of  a  welcome  in  one 
of  those  homes,"  Philip  thought  hap 
pily.  He  found  the  Gunton  house,  and 
sent  in  his  letter.  In  a  few  minutes 
he  was  shaken  by  both  hands  by  a 
big,  hearty  man,  who  repeated  over 
and  over  : 

'•  Phil  Morrow's  boy  !  Phil  Morrow's 
boy,  every  inch  of  him  !  And  I've 
never  seen  your  father  since  you  were 
born." 

When  Philip  told  him  that  he  hoped 
to  obtain  employment  in  an  architect's 
office,  Mr.  Gunton  exclaimed  :  "  Noth 
ing  easier.  Black  is  the  greatest  of 
them  all,  as  you  know,  and  is  not  only 
my  warm  personal  friend,  but  has 
charge  of  a  great  deal  of  work  I  hap 
pen  to  control.  We'll  fix  that  as  soon 
as  you're  ready.  But  not  a  word 
of  business  or  affairs  now,  my  boy. 
The  first  thing  is — dinner.  Why  not 


JUST    ACROSS    THE    SQUARE.  1 9 

dine  with  us  to-night  ?  Any  engage 
ments  ?" 

"  I've  only  been  in  the  city  two  hours, 
and  I  know  no  one  but  you." 

"  Phil  Morrow's  son  need  know  no 
one  but  me  in  New  York,"  said  the  old 
man  sententiously.  "  Then  this  even 
ing  at  7  o'clock.  Mrs.  Gunton  will  be 
anxious  to  see  you.  She  never  met 
your  father — she's  the  second  Mrs. 
Gunton,  and  a  country  girl — but  she's 
heard  me  speak  of  him  often  enough. 
I  loved  your  father.  I  tried  often  to 
have  him  come  here." 

As  Philip  was  leaving  the  house  Mr. 
Gunton  said  :  "  It  you  have  an  evening 
dress  suit,  put  it  on." 

"  Oh,  I  have." 

"  You  must  not  mind  my  asking  you. 
Neither  your  father  nor  I  had  one  at 
your  age." 

Philip's  mind    was    in    a    ferment    of 


20  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

bliss  as  he  left  the  Gunton  house  and 
stood  gazing  once  more  at  the  Wash 
ington  arch  "  I  must  walk,"  he  said 
to  himself  exultantly,  "  or  I'll  be 
arrested  for  dancing  in  the  street.  It 
does  not  seem  possible  that  it  can  be 
true,  but  it  is  true  !" 

He  started  up  Fifth  avenue,  hugging 
himself  with  boyish  abandonment. 
Everything  now  was  as  the  realization 
of  a  dream.  He  knew  the  names  of  the 
two  churches  he  passed  before  reach 
ing  Fourteenth  street  ;  knew  the  names 
of  their  architects,  and  observed  that  a 
chapel  addition  had  been  made  to  one 
since  it  had  been  pictured  for  his 
treasured  copy  of  "  Notable  New  York 
Architecture."  He  recognized  Four 
teenth  street  before  he  read  the  names 
on  its  street-car  lines,  and  rejoiced 
in  his  knowledge. 

"  I    know  New  York !     It    is    mine  ! 


JUST    ACROSS   THE    SQUARE.  21 

Big,  beloved,  beautiful  city—it  is  mine  ! 
Mine  as  an  American,  and  it  has  wel 
comed  me  !" 

Then  on  up  to  Twenty-third  street, 
where  he  was  swept  into  the  late  after 
noon  whirl,  and  willingly  let  himself 
drift  where  the  torrent  of  humanity 
chanced. 

At  dinner  that  evening  he  sat  next  to 
Mrs.  Gunton.  "  A  country  girl,  in 
deed  !"  he  thought,  as  he  observed  her, 
the  most  dazzlingly  beautiful  woman  he 
had  ever  seen. 

His  host  told  stories  about  his  boy 
hood's  friend,  Phil  Morrow,  and  became 
sentimental  over  his  recollections  of 
their  days  at  the  country  school.  One 
guest,  a  quiet,  gravely  observant  man, 
made  Philip's  heart  swell  with  pride  by 
his  talk  about  his  father,  "  that  great 
scholar  and  philosopher,  Philip  Mor 
row,"  and  when  the  grave  man  had 


22  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

ceased  talking  Philip  was  conscious  that 
he  had  been  suddenly  boomed  into 
something  like  a  lion  in  the  estimation 
of  the  other  guests,  only  for  being  his 
father's  son. 

As  the  ladies  rose  to  leave  the  table 
Mrs.  Gunton  said  to  Philip  :  "  Come 
with  us,  Mr.  Morrow  ;  these  men  are 
going  to  talk  about  debentures,  and 
something  called  common  or  preferred, 


I  forget  which,  but  it  has  to  do  with 
six  per  cent.,  and  I  want  you  to  talk  to 
me  about  the  country." 

When  they  were  seated  together  in 


JUST    ACROSS    THE    SQUARE.  23 

the  library,  where  she  led  him,  and  told 
him  he  might  smoke,  she  said,  with  an 
air  of  the  greatest  importance,  "  Did 
you  ever  see  a  lot  of  little  black  pigs 
feeding  at  a  trough  of  buttermilk,  eat 
ing  until  they  shivered  with  the  impos 
sible  effort  to  eat  more,  and  then  climb 
ing  into  the  trough  ?  I  have,  and  I'd 
give  up  my  box  at  the  opera  to  see 
that  most  fascinating  sight  again.  Did 
you  ever  see  a  dignified  turkey  gobbler- 
chasing  a  grasshopper  ?  Tell  me  every 
thing  like  that  you've  seen,  and  then  if 
I  like  the  way  you  tell  it  I'll  select  a 
rich  girl  to  marry  you." 

She  was  only  a  few  years  older  than 
he,  and  he  saw  her  with  dazzled  eyes 
and  brain,  and  he'd  never  been  in  love 
before,  and — well,  she  gently  pressed  his 
hand  as  she  bade  him  good  night,  saying  : 

"  Where  are  you  living,  country 
cousin  ?" 


24  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

"  Just  across  the  Square,"  Philip  re 
plied. 

Her  eyebrows  arched  slightly,  but 
steadied  instantly.  She  had  never 
happened  to  know  any  one  from  the 
other  side  of  the  Square.  "  That  is 
jolly,"  she  said,  "you  must  be  neigh 
borly,  and  come  and  see  us  often." 


"  We'll  see  about  putting  you  at 
work  in  Black's  office  right  away,"  were 
Mr.  Gunton's  parting  words. 

Philip  stood  at   one  of  the  corners  of 


JUST    ACROSS   THE    SQUARE.  2$ 

the  end  of  the  Avenue,  and  looking 
through  the  arch  saw  glimmering  down 
upon  him  in  friendly  radiance  the 
lighted  cross  surmounting  the  tower  of 
the  Judson  Memorial  Church.  "  The 
symbol  of  Faith,"  he  murmured.  "And 
I  have  faith  ;  faith  in  the  promise  of 
my  father's  friend  ;  faith  in  my  ability 
to  succeed.  How  beautiful  she  is  !"  he 
continued,  but  that  was  irrelevant,  for 
then  he  was  thinking  of  his  father's 
friend's  young  wife  ;  yet  irrelevant 
thoughts  are  not  the  most  easily  dis 
missed.  He  stood  there  in  the  crisp 
autumn  night  air  happier  than  he  had 
ever  been  before  in  his  life.  Even  his 
most  extravagant  dream  of  professional 
advancement  had  never  gone  beyond 
what  Mr.  Gunton's  promise  seemed  to 
assure  ;  and  it  may  have  been  this 
thought  which  triumphed  in  his  heart, 
but  what  he  was  saying  was  : 


26 


NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 


"  I  will  paint  a  picture  in  black  and 
white  of  this  arch  with  the  lighted  cross 
seen  through  it,  and  beyond.  I  wonder 


if  it  will  please  her."     It  was  of  her  and 

not   of  his  father's   friend  that  he  was 

thinking,  and  it  was  of  her  he  dreamed. 

The     next    morning     Philip     break- 


JUST    ACROSS    THE    SQUARE.  27 

fasted  recklessly  at  the  Black  Cat.  He 
felt  that  there  was  no  need  of  being 
niggardly  about  his  expenses  now  that 
he  was  assured  of  immediate  work. 
Life  was  as  bright  as  the  day. 

He  strolled  up  the  avenue,  looking 
for  a  certain  flower  shop  he  had  noticed 
the  afternoon  before,  and  there  he 
selected  a  bunch  of  violets,  gasping  a 
little  when  the  salesman  asked  a  dollar 
for  it. 

"  Can  you  send  it  ?"  Philip  inquired, 
giving  Mrs.  Gunton's  address.  Cer 
tainly,  it  could  be  sent  easily  enough, 
for  a  ten  dollar  bunch  of  roses  another 
guest  of  the  evening  before  had  ordered, 
was  going  to  the  same  address. 

The  salesman  did  not  explain  that. 

Two  weeks  later  Mr.  Black,  the 
architect,  was  in  Mr.  Gunton's  office 
discussing  some  important  building 
plans.  The  architect  had  not  been 


28  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

gone  more  than  a  minute  when  Mr. 
Gunton  hurriedly  sent  a  clerk  to  recall 
him.  He  was  lost,  however. 

"  It's  too  bad,"  said  Mr.  Gunton. 
"  But  I'll  write  to  him.  I  must  put 
Phil  Morrow's  boy  at  work." 

He  started  to  dictate  the  letter,  but 
some  men  came  in  to  talk  about  de 
bentures,  and  common  or  preferred 
something,  which  had  to  do  with  six 
per  cent. 

Two  weeks  later  still,  a  month  after 
Philip  arrived  in  New  York,  he  entered 
the  house  on  South  Washington  Square, 
and  the  Janitor  who  was  waiting  to  ask 
him  for  next  month's  rent,  did  not  do 
so  ;  the  boy  looked  so  hopelessly 
wretched. 

He  had  not  been  very  careful  of 
his  small  store  of  money,  and  it 
was  gone  in  a  week,  and  some  of  his 
books  and  trinkets  went  the  second 


JUST    ACROSS    THE    SQUARE.  29 

week.  He  tortured  himself  with  two 
questions  :  Why  did  he  not  hear  from 
Mr.  Gunton  ?  Why  did  he  not  go 
to  Mr.  Gunton  ?  He  saw  the  Gun- 
ton  house  every  day,  just  across 
the  Square  ;  often  saw  the  master 
enter  and  leave  it  ;  more  often  saw 
the  mistress  enter  and  leave.  At  such 
times  of  watching  he  would  answer  the 
first  question  readily :  Mr.  Gunton's 
silence  was  the  pure  forgetfulness  of  a 
very  busy  man.  For  the  second  ques 
tion  he  miserably  told  himself  that  a 
visit  from  him  to  Mr.  Gunton  for  no 
other  purpose  than  to  ask  his  aid  in 
securing  work  would  be  in  the  nature 
of  begging.  He  labored  with  himself 
to  prove  that  this  was  a  foolish,  false, 
even  a  wicked  mental  perversion,  be 
got  of  pride  and  over-sensitivness. 
But  the  more  he  argued  the  more 
deeply  rooted  and  rank  became  the 


30  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

thought.  Then  he  turned  upon  himself 
and  held  his  deeper  underlying  thought 
at  bay,  and  knew  that  while  he  would 
have  sturdily  asked  his  father's  friend 
for  the  fulfilment  of  his  reiterated 
promise,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to 
beg  for  the  means  of  living  from  the 
husband  of  the  woman  who  had  been 
his  hostess,  who  had  called  him  "  Coun 
try  cousin,"  who  was  so  beautiful  ! 

Then,  in  the  third  week,  when  he  be 
gan  to  pawn  his  clothes,  the  possibility 
of  calling  at  the  house  just  across  the 
Square  vanished  utterly  ;  and  when  in 
the  fourth  week  he  was  of  necessity  re 
duced  to  one  poor  meal  a  day  he  even 
gave  up  his  futile  rounds  of  the  archi 
tects'  offices,  searching  for  work,  and 
did  not  return  to  his  lodgings  until 
after  dark,  for  he  had  a  dread  of  the 
possibility  of  being  seen  by  any  one  in 
the  Gunton  house.  That  day,  at  the 


JUST    ACROSS    THE    SQUARE.  31 

end  of  the  fourth  week,  when  he  had 
eaten  nothing  for  forty-eight  hours,  and 
had  failed  to  secure  work  as  a  laborer 
on  the  docks,  he  returned  to  his  room 
and  saw  the  Italian  family  seated  at 
their  supper.  The  young  woman  threw 
him  a  kiss  and  showed  all  her  white 
teeth  as  she  pointed  him  out,  at  his 
window,  to  her  companions.  As  he 
stood  there  half  wondering  what  would 
be  his  reception  if  he  went  to  the 
Italian's  rooms  and  asked  them  for  the 
food  he  was  starving  for,  Mrs.  Gunton, 
in  her  dressing  room  just  across  the 
Square,  called  to  her  husband  through 
an  open  door  : 

"  Have  you  ever  spoken  to  Mr.  Black 
about  young  Morrow,  my  dear  ?" 

"I'm  glad  you  reminded  me  of  it," 
Mr.  Gunton  replied,  "  Black  will  be 
here  for  dinner  this  evening,  and  I'll  fix 
the  matter." 


32  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

"  Young  Morrow  has  been  here  some 

time  without  employment,  has  he  not?" 

"  Only  a  week  or  so.     Just  time  for 

a  country  boy  to  have  a   bit  of   a  look 

around  the  town." 

"  It's  a  month  ago  to-night  he  dined 
here.  He  sent  me  some  violets  the 
next  day." 

"  Did  he  ?  Well,  he  is  Phil  Morrow's 
son,  sure  enough.  You  know  that  boy's 
father  loaned  me  his  savings  for  my 
expenses  to  New  York  forty  years  ago." 
An  hour  later,  at  dinner,  Mr.  Gunton 
suddenly  said  to  Mr.  Black,  "  By  the 
way,  I  want  you  to  put  a  young  friend 
of  mine  at  work." 

The  Architect  grimaced  a  little  as  he 
replied  :  "  The  trouble  is  that  your 
young  friends  in  my  office  do  not 
work." 

"  But  Philip  Morrow  will,"  exclaimed 
Mr,  Gunton, 


JUST    ACROSS    THE    SQUARE.  33 

"  Philip  Morrow  ?  Philip  Morrow," 
repeated  Mr.  Black  reflectively. 
"Where  have  I  seen  that  name? 
Why!"  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  "I 
voted  to  give  the  first  prize  to  a  man 
of  that  name,  in  a  competition  for 
some  building  plans  in  which  I  was 
one  of  the  judges.  I  was  outvoted, 
but  if  that  is  the  same  man,  I  want 
him." 

"  Was  he  from  my  old  town  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Gunton  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  so  he  was,"  Mr.  Black  re 
sponded. 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  by 
a  horrified  butler  who  whispered  to 
Mr.  Gunton: 

"  A  policeman  wants  to  see  you." 

"  Excuse  me  for  bothering  you,  Mr. 
Gunton,"  said  the  officer,  when  that 
gentleman  met  him  in  the  hall.  "  But 
a  young  man  has  just  killed  himself, 


34  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

and  your  card  was  the  only  address 
found  in  his  room." 

"  My  card  ?  My  God,  man  ! 
Where  ?" 

"  In  a  fourth  story  back  room,  in  a 
house  just  across  the  Square." 


A  ROSE  OF  THE  TENDERLOIN. 


I  MET  Harry,  Tenderloin  Harry,  that 
day  as  he  was  alighting  from  a  han 
som,  at  the  corner  of  Fifth  avenue  and 
one  of  the  upper  Thirtieth  streets. 
There  was  nothing  surprising  in  seeing 
him  on  Fifth  avenue,  for  that,  as  well 
as  one  side  of  Seventh  avenue,  is  in  the 
Tenderloin — a  fact  which  seems  to  es 
cape  the  minds  of  those  who  comment 
on  that  interesting  precinct. 

"  Sherry's,  as  well  as  Shanley's,  is  in 
the  Tenderloin,"  Harry  phrased  it  to 
me  once. 

It  was  surprising,  though,  that  he 

[37] 


38  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

should  have  been  in  a  hansom,  for  he 
usually  goes  afoot  through  his  beloved 
precinct,  and  it  was  more  surprising  to 
see  him  lift  a  three-year-old  girl  from 
the  cab — a  child  with  big,  frank,  hand 
some  blue  eyes  that  were  dancing  with 
excitement,  I  noticed,  when  I  stopped 
to  speak  to  Harry. 

"  We  been  to  Hentrem  Park,"  she 
interrupted,  as  we  were  chatting. 

"  That  means  Central  Park,"  Harry 
interpreted,  smiling  down  at  the  child. 

"  And  haw  ions,  and  tigers  and — and 
— potomums  and  elphim  an — and  dote 
tarriage." 

"  Goat  carriage,"  Harry  again  inter 
preted,  proudly. 

I  walked  down  the  cross-street  with 
them,  the  child  holding  a  hand  of  each 
of  us  and  chattering  excitedly.  They 
stopped  in  front  of  a  house  near  Sixth 
avenue. 


A   ROSE    OF   THE    TENDERLOIN.  39 

"  Now  doin'  hee  Mamma,  and  tell 
Mamma  'bout  Hentrem  Park,"  said  the 
child,  as  Harry  took  her  in  his  arms  to 
carry  her  up  the  steps. 

"  Dood-by,  oo  do  and  hee  Hentrem 
Park  and  dote  tarriage,"  she  said  over 
Harry's  shoulders,  waving  a  plump  lit 
tle  hand  at  me  as  I  walked  on. 

I  knew  as  much  about  Harry  as  do 
most  men  who  know  the  Tenderloin— 
and  no  more.  I  knew  that  was  not  his 
home,  and  I  wondered  if  his  curious 
history  included  a  romance  involving 
the  life  of  that  beautiful  child.  I  was 
yet  lazily  speculating  about  the  man 
and  the  baby  when,  after  walking  a  few 
blocks  up  Broadway,  I  had  returned  as 
far  as  the  corner  of  the  same  cross- 
street,  and  there  I  was  almost  run 
into  by  Harry,  with  the  child  in  his 
arms. 

He  was  greatly  excited,  more  than  I 


40  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

had  ever  seen  him  before,  and  the  child 
was  crying  from  fright. 

"  Here  !"  he  exclaimed  as  he  saw  me, 
"  Quick !  you're  just  the  man.  You 
know  where  my  rooms  are  ;  take  this 
child  there." 

He  stopped  a  passing  coupe  and 
pushed  me  in  and  put  the  baby  in  my 
arms  before  I  had  a  chance  to  ask  a 
question. 

"  Here  are  my  keys  ;  call  the  land 
lady — she'll  do  whatever's  wanted  !" 
and  he  slammed  the  door,  giving  the 
address  to  the  driver. 

I  tried  to  quiet  the  child,  but  she 
was  thoroughly  frightened  ;  at  what 
she  could  not  say,  but  I  guessed  it  was 
the  panic  she  had  been  thrown  into  by 
seeing  some  sudden  and  great  change 
in  Harry. 

I  was  relieved  when  the  landlady 
joined  me  in  Harry's  apartments,  for 


A    ROSE    OF   THE   TENDERLOIN.  4! 

she  was  a  motherly  and  calm  woman, 
who  soon  had  the  child  quiet,  and  inter 
ested  in  some  picture  papers. 

I  told  her  what  little  I  knew,  but  she 
asked  no  questions  and  showed  no  curi 
osity — she  had  been  Harry's  landlady 
for  many  years,  and  perhaps  had  learned 
not  to  be  surprised  or  curious  over  any 
business  of  his. 

I  had  been  there  not  more  than  half 
an  hour  when  a  man  came  with  a  little 
trunk,  and  word  from  Harry  that  it  be 
longed  to  the  baby  and  was  to  be 
opened.  Mrs.  Masters,  the  landlady, 
opened  the  trunk  and  took  out  some  of 
its  contents,  with  many  exclamations  of 
delight  at  the  rich  and  pretty  clothes. 
The  baby  took  a  knowing  and  inter 
ested  hand  in  this,  selecting  a  u  dess 
mamma  likes,"  which  Mrs.  Masters  put 
on  the  child. 

"  Unky     Harry    say    mamma    dawn 


42  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

'way.  Do  oo  know  where  mamma 
dawn  ?" 

"  No,  dearie,"  said  Mrs.  Masters. 

"  My  name  not  dearie  ;  my  name, 
Osie." 

"Osie?     Oh,  Rose!' 

"  Ess,  Osie." 

It  was  getting  dark,  and  little  Rose 
began  to  whimper  and  want  to  go  to 
her  mamma,  so  Mrs.  Masters  undressed 
her  and  put  her  to  bed.  I  saw  them  in 
Harry's  bedroom  from  where  I  sat  in 
his  parlor. 

"  Do  you  say  prayers,  Rose  ?" 

"  Ess,  I  say  Dod  bess  mamma." 

"  And  papa?" 

The  child  looked  up  at  Mrs.  Masters 
wonderingly,  and  repeated,  sleepily: 

"  Dod  bess  mamma — 'at's  all." 

Mrs.  Masters  and  I  were  whispering 
in  the  parlor,  which  was  only  half  lit 
from  the  electric  lights  shining  in 


A    ROSE    OF     THE     TENDERLOIN.  43 

through  the  curtains  from  the  street 
below,  and  had  just  started  at  a  cry 
from  Rose  as  Many  came  in. 

He  stood  on  the  threshold  as  he 
heard  the  baby's  voice  saying  :  "  I  doin' 
tiss  mamma  dood-night.  Mamma,  turn 
tiss  Osie  dood-night." 

Mrs.  Masters  had  the  little  one  sound 
asleep  soon,  and  then  Harry  told  his 
story. 

It  was  a  long  story,  and  much  of  it 
you  may  have  read  in  the  papers  the 
next  morning.  Even  if  you  did  not, 
there  is  no  use  telling  it  all  here. 
The  headline  in  the  papers  told  most 
of  it :  "  Another  Tenderloin  Suicide." 

"I  never  knew  the  father  of  the 
child,"  said  Harry,  sitting  with  his  back 
to  the  light  from  the  street,  "  and  I 
hope  I  never  may.  The  poor  girl  I 
knew  before  she  — before  she  came  into 
the  Tenderloin.  After  the  baby  was 


44  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

born  I  saw  the  mother  sometimes  in 
the  restaurants  and  music  halls — some 
times  on  the  street.  One  clay  I  met 
her  with  the  baby,  and  the  little  one 
kind  of  took  to  me,  and  we  became 
good  pals — the  little  one  and  me.  I 
used  to  send  it  little  things  from  the 
shops  — dresses  and  hats  and  things — 
and  take  it  out  to  the  park  once  in  a 
while. 

"  To-day  I  got  a  note  from  the  mother 
asking  me  if  I'd  take  Rose  out  for  a 
ride.  I  saw  her — the  little  woman— 
when  I  called  for  the  baby,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  she  was  jollier  than 
usual.  When  we  got  back  to  the  house, 
they'd  just  found  it  out — found  her 
dead,  and  some  of  the  women  set  up  a 
cry  that  the  Society  would  take  the  kid 
• — take  Rose,  you  know — and  that  gave 
me  a  scare.  That's  when  I  met  you. 
"  I've  made  arrangements  about  the 


A    ROSE    OF    THE    TENDERLOIN.  45 

funeral — and  that  will  be  all  right.     But 
it's  Rose  I'm  thinking  of.      Is  she  sleep 
ing  all  right,  Mrs.  Masters?" 
"  Like  a  little  angel,  Harry." 
He   tip-toed   into    his    bedroom,  and 
when  he  came  back  he  said  nothing  for 
many    minutes.      Then   he   lighted  the 
gas,  and  handing  me  a   sheet    of  paper, 
said:  "  They   found    this    addressed  to 
me." 

It  read  : 

"  HARRY  : — Please  look  after  the 
baby.  I  have  pawned  everything  but 
the  baby's  clothes.  I  have  no  right  to 
ask  this  of  you,  only  that  the  baby  likes 
you.  I  can't  stand  this  any  longer. 
Good-by.  ROSE. 

"Harry — Try  and  put  the  baby  in  a 
way  to  be  brought  up  good,  and  God 
will  bless  you.  R." 


46  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

For  several  days  after  this  I  missed 
Harry  from  his  favorite  promenades. 
His  absence  was  as  noticeable  as  would 
be  that  of  the  Worth  Monument  from 
its  pedestal.  I  began  to  wonder  much 
what  had  become  of  him,  and  then,  what 
had  become  of  pretty  little  Rose.  So 
I  called  to  learn. 

"Yes,  he's  in,"  said  Mrs.  Masters, 
smiling  with  much  good  nature.  It 
occurred  to  me  that  I  had  not  seen  her 
smile  much  before  then. 

A  young  woman  in  a  nursemaid's  cap 
and  apron  admitted  me  to  the  hall  of 
Harry's  apartments.  She  seemed  to 
be  a  particularly  amiable  young  woman, 
and  was  also  smiling  most  sympatheti 
cally.  I  heard  shouts  of  merriment,  a 
chorus  of  deep-chested  laughs  upholding 
a  solo  of  the  sweetest  sound  on  earth— 
the  unaffected  laugh  of  a  happy  child. 

Seated  on  the  floor  was   Kendhope, 


A    ROSE    OF    THE    TENDERLOIN.  47 

the  comedian  ;  and  never  in  his  long 
and  successful  career  had  he  held  such 
an  appreciative  and  favoring  audience. 

Opposite  him  Harry  was  seated  on  a 
low  chair,  holding  Rose  on  his  knee, 
and  she  was  watching  Kendhope  with 
fascinated  eagerness.  The  distinguished 
comedian  held  in  one  hand  Rose's  fa 
vorite  doll  and  in  the  other  a  comic 
mask.  The  game  was  for  Rose  to  ask 
the  doll  a  question  and  Kendhope  to 
answer  through  the  mask,  in  the  pre 
tense  of  speaking  for  the  doll. 

Standing  around  were  a  half  dozen 
men  of  Harry's  class,  men  whose  bril 
liant  waistcoats  were  well  plumped  out, 
whose  dress  and  linen  in  all  respects,  if 
somewhat  showy  in  design  or  color, 
were  most  notable  for  exquisite  neat 
ness. 

"  Have  oo  been  a  dood  dirl  to-day  ?" 
Rose  asked. 


48  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

Kendhope  answered  through  the 
mask,  at  the  same  time  making  the  doll 
nod  and  squirm  drolly. 

"  Ess,  very  dood  dirl ;  'cept  I  eat  too 
much  apple  sauce." 

Rose  laughed  and  clapped  her  hands 
at  this  answer,  and  the  men  roared.  I 
learned  that  that  was  a  joke  on  Harry. 
The  nurse  had  told  him  that  apple  sauce 
was  good  for  Rose,  and  he  had  promptly 
arranged  with  the  chef  at  Delmonico's 
for  the  delivery  of  a  fresh  quart  of 
apple  sauce  three  times  a  day,  and  paid 
for  six  months'  supply  in  advance. 

"  Damn  me  if  she  ain't  up  to  the 
limit." 

This  was  said  by  a  man  who  had 
graduated  from  the  prize  ring  into  the 
betting  ring,  and  had  retired  rich. 

Harry  gave  him  an  ugly  look. 

"  Damn  me  !"  said  Rose,  looking  up 
inquiringly,  as  if  for  a  meaning. 


A    ROSE    OF    THE    TENDERLOIN. 


49 


"  There,  see  what  you've  done  !" 
Harry  said  to  the  abashed  offender. 
"  It's  a  bad  word  and  don't  mean  any 
thing,  Rosie.  I  wonder  Tom  had  no 
more  sense." 

"  Tom  div  me  a  new  doll,"  Rosie 
said,  absolving  the  penitent  sinner 
with  a  smile. 

The     game    was 
changed  ;  a  splendid 
pair  of  red    silk, 
silver      mounted 
reins,     presented     |||^ 
to  Rose  by  a  re-  //  fjy. 

/  'I 

tired     horseman,    .*il\\ 

~5^* 

was  harnessed  on 
to  the  whole  party  by  the  donor,  and 
Rose  drove  us  all  round  the  room  with 
shouts  of  joy. 

I  noticed  a  number  of  changes  in  the 
room.  A  sideboard,  wont  to  present  a 
generous  offering  of  drinkables,  was 


50  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

converted  into  a  doll's  playhouse  ;  a 
centre-table  around  which  most  of  the 
men  present  were  in  the  habit  of  en 
gaging  in  heavy  play,  no  longer  held 
cards  and  poker  chips,  but  was  now  in 
nocently  arrayed  with  a  profusion  of 
baby  tea-things. 

When  Rose  stopped,  tired  of  driving 
her  obedient  team,  she  stood  in  front  of 
a  large  photograph  of  Mile.  Blanc  in 
the  meagre  "  fairy  "  costume  in  which 
she  entranced  vaudeville  audiences  last 
winter. 

"  At's  a  angel,"  said  Rose. 

Harry  flushed,  took  the  photograph 
and  threw  it  into  the  open  fire.  Then 
with  a  sudden  impulse  he  went  about 
the  room  gathering  all  such  souvenirs, 
and  in  a  moment  more  there  was  a  con 
flagration  of  the  finest  collection  in 
town  of  music  hall  celebrities'  auto 
graph  pictures. 


A    ROSE    OF    THE    TENDERLOIN.  51 

Presently  the  nurse  came  and  said  it 
was  time  for  Rose's  supper  and  bed. 

Baby  and  nurse  disappeared,  but  the 
men  did  not  go.  They  sat  around 
talking  softly  and  apparently  waiting 
for  something.  Everything  Rose  had 
said  and  done  was  rehearsed  and  de 
clared  to  be  the  most  wonderful  per 
formance  in  the  world. 

"  The  nurse  wouldn't  let  her  have 
those  foils,  Jack,"  said  Harry,  pointing 
to  a  handsome  pair  of  miniature  fen 
cing  foils  on  the  mantel.  "  She  said 
the  baby  would  be  sticking  them  into 
her  eyes." 

"Of  course, "remarked  Tom  reproach 
fully,  glad  to  find  another  offender. 
"  Do  you  want  to  put  the  kid's  eyes 
out  ?" 

"  I  didn't  think  of  that,"  Jack  an 
swered  apologetically.  "  I  was  reading 
in  the  paper  that  girls  are  going  in  for 


52  NEAR   A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

fencing   nowadays,  and   I   thought   she 
couldn't  begin  too  young." 

"  Those  boxing-gloves  were  a  great 
hit,  Frank,"  Harry  said  to  another. 

"  Were  they  ?"  Frank  asked  delight 
edly. 

"She's  a  wonder  with  them.  Hon 
est,  she  poked  me  in  the  nose  with 
them  till  it  bled,"  Harry  added. 

There  was  a  supressed  chuckle  of 
delight  at  this. 

From  the  further  conversation  I 
learned  that  Harry's  friends  passed 
every  afternoon  with  him  and  Rose, 
and  that  that  young  person  had  already 
been  presented  with  about  everything 
the  shops  of  New  York  afford,  from  a 
cart  and  pony  to  a  pair  of  diamond 
earrings.  The  giver  of  the  latter  had 
been  astonished  to  learn  that  girl  babies 
are  not  born  with  ears  ready  pierced  for 
earrings. 


A    ROSE    OF    THE    TENDERLOIN.  53 

The  talk  gradually  hushed,  and  at 
last  the  men  were  all  silent,  looking 
toward  the  nursery  door.  There  was  a 
little  start,  and  then  a  more  intense 
stillness,  when  the  door  was  opened 
and  Rose,  in  her  nightgown,  came  in. 
She  was  tired,  and  there  was  the  little 
strain  of  sleepy  pensiveness  in  her  voice 
as  she  went  to  each  man  and  bade  him 
"  Dood-night,"  receiving  from  each  a 
half  timid  but  reverent  kiss. 

Then  she  went  to  Harry,  and,  kneel 
ing  in  the  firelight,  prayed : 

"  Dod  bess  mamma  and  Unky  Harry 
— and  Bob — and  Frank — and — and— 

"  And  Tom,"  whispered  a  thick 
voice. 

"  Ess,  and  bess  Tom,  and — and — 

It  was  a  very  sleepy  voice  which  con 
cluded  : 

"  And  bess  all  Unky  Harry's  dood 
friends." 


54          NEAR  A  WHOLE  CITY  FULL. 

Harry  kissed  her  and  the  nurse  took 
her  away. 

The  men  departed  slowly  and  quietly. 

"Wait,  I  want  to  see  you,"  Harry 
said  to  me. 

It  was  so  long  before  he  spoke  I 
thought  he  might  have  fallen  asleep, 
and  at  last  I  asked  :  "  What  is  it,  old 
man  ?" 

"I  don't  know  any  good  woman," 
he  said,  "  not  the  kind  that  dead 
mother  would  want  me  to  give  the 
baby  to." 

"  Have  you  decided  to  give  up 
Rosie  ?" 

"  I  must,"  Harry  answered  slowly, 
and  with  an  effort  which  seemed  neces 
sary  to  steady  his  voice. 

"  It's  kind  of  hard,"  he  continued 
after  a  pause,  "  it's  kind  of  hard  to 
think  that  I  might  be  doing  the  baby 
harm  just  to  be  seen  with  her.  Every 


A    ROSE    OF    THE    TENDERLOIN.  55 

one  in  town  knows  me — by  sight,  at 
least.  Supposing  Rose  should  be  seen 
with  me  every  day  now,  and  then  grow 
up  in  New  York.  Why,  someone 
would  remember,  and  say  of  her,  when 
she  was  a  young  lady  :  *  She's  related 
to  Tenderloin  Harry,  I  remember  see 
ing  them  together.'  That  might  harm 
her."  There  was  another  silence  be 
fore  he  resumed  :  "  It's  better  to  give 
her  up  now — before  I  get  fond  of  her. 
I  might  not  be  willing  later.  Can  you 
help  me?" 

"  Help  you  ?" 

"  To  find  some  good  woman  who 
wants  a  little  angel  like  Rose — who'd 
be  kind  to  her — bring  her  up  good. 
There  need  not  be  any  trouble  about 
money.  I've  got  some,  and  no  one  to 
leave  it  to  except  Rosie." 

I  promised  Harry  I'd  help  him.  I 
had  the  matter  in  mind  constantly,  but 


56  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

it  was  weeks  before  chance  offered  the 
opportunity  I  wanted. 

One  evening  I  dined  at  the  house  of 
a  friend  where  I  met  a  man  and  wife 
from  a  large  Western  city.  The  man 
was  a  lawyer,  as  was  my  host,  and  was 
in  New  York  in  connection  with  some 
important  litigation.  The  Westerner's 
wife  was  a  gracious,  attractive  woman, 
but  there  seemed  to  be  beyond  her  typ 
ical  Western  vivacity  a  note  of  sadness 
—of  discontent. 

When  the  other  guests  had  gone  we, 
my  host  and  I,  discussed  them,  after 
the  manner  of  men,  I  fear,  as  much  as 
women. 

"  She  is  not  a  happy  woman,"  said 
my  host,  "  although  you'd  say  she  has 
everything  to  make  her  so.  Her  hus 
band  is  successful  and  prosperous,  she 
has  a  beautiful  home,  is  a  leader  so 
cially,  and  important  in  all  those  liter- 


A    ROSE   OF   THE    TENDERLOIN.  57 

ary,  musical  and  benevolent  movements, 
which  so  much  occupy  the  energies  of 
women  of  society  in  Western  towns. 
But  she  has  no  children." 

Then  I  told  my  host  the  story  of 
Rose. 

The  next  day  there  was  a  long  inter 
view,  which  I  brought  about,  between 
my  host,  the  Western  lawyer  and 
Harry.  As  a  result  of  the  interview 
Rose  was  taken  by  her  nurse  to  a  hotel 
to  see  the  Western  lawyer's  wife,  and 
for  a  week  thereafter  the  baby  was  with 
her  every  day.  Harry,  in  rain  or  sun 
shine,  faithfully  walked  up  and  down 
in  front  of  the  hotel — up  and  down  all 
the  hours  the  baby's  visits  lasted — and 
only  ended  his  sentryship  when  Rose 
and  the  nurse  returned  to  his  apart 
ments. 

Then  I  received  this  note  from 
Harry  : 


58  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

"  She  is  coming  this  afternoon  to 
take  the  baby  away.  Please  come  up, 
as  I've  never  seen  the  lady,  and  you 
can  help  perhaps.  HARRY." 

I  went,  and  when  the  lady  came  I 
introduced  Harry.  She  knew  the  whole 
story — who  and  what  he  was — but  she 
shook  hands  with  him  cordially. 

The  other  men — Harry's  friends — 
were  there,  but  they  hung  silently 
about  the  windows,  and  seemed  deeply 
interested  in  the  sights  of  the  street. 

Rose  came  in  from  the  nursery,  pret 
tily  dressed  to  go  out.  Perhaps  it  was 
because  her  usually  boisterous  slaves 
did  not  have  any  greeting  for  her,  or 
perhaps  a  look  in  Harry's  face  which 
gave  Rose  a  little  fright.  Children  take 
panic  like  animals  from  slight  causes 
which  men  do  not  discover.  She  ran 
to  Harry  and  clutched  his  coat. 


A    ROSE    OF    THE    TENDERLOIN.  59 

"  What  oo  doin'  do  ?"  she  asked,  look 
ing  up  in  his  face. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  do  anything, 
dear,"  he  answered,  looking  straight 
ahead  so  that  he  did  not  see  her  arms 
outstretched  to  be  taken. 

The  lady  gave  a  quick  searching 
glance  at  Harry's  set  face,  and  then 
said  with  nervous  resolution  : 

"  I  shall  be  in  town  a  week  or  two 
yet,  but  I  thought  it  better  to  take 
Rose  now  ;  you  might  grow  to  be  fond 
of  her." 

"  Yes,  lady,  I  might,"  Harry  said  still 
not  looking  at  Rose. 

"  Where  I  doin'  ?"  the  baby  asked. 

"With  me.     Come,  Rose." 

"  Is  Unky  Harry  tummin'  ?" 

"  No,  I'm  not,  Rosie." 

"Why  not?" 

Harry  gently  detached  the  baby's 
fingers  from  his  coat,  and  there  was  a. 


60  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

slight  movement  in  the  group  by  the 
window  as  he  said,  huskily  : 

*•  Because  your  mother  said  that — 
that  if  I  put  you  where  you'd  be 
brought  up  good,  Rosie  dear,  God 
would  bless  me." 

The  lady  slipped  out  of  the  room 
with  Rose. 

"And,  by  God,  He  ought  to !': 
sobbed  Harry. 


ANN  ELIZA'S  TRIUMPH 


I  OFTEN  think  that  the  admitted 
mental  superiority  of  the  people  of 
Greenwich  Village  results  from  the 
fact  that  the  young  of  that  most  in 
teresting  section  of  Manhattan  Island 
are  early  required  to  master  the  prob 
lem  of  how  two  parallel  lines  can 
meet. 

Every  New  York  boy  and  girl  knows 
that  the  numbered  streets  run  east  and 
west  in  parallel  lines,  twenty  to  the 
mile,  but  only  the  youth  of  old  Green 
wich  are  confronted  with  the  mystery 
of  two  of  these  streets,  West  Tenth  and 
West  Fourth,  meeting,  and  thereby 

[631 


64  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

compelled  to  solve  that  mystery  or 
upset  a  cherished  axiom  in  geometry. 

That  alone,  aside  from  the  superior 
social  conditions  of  Greenwich,  is 
enough,  I  contend,  to  account  for  the 
mental  alertness  of  the  inhabitants, 
which  exceeds,  as  I  believe,  that  of  the 
residents  of  any  other  portion  of  New 
York,  from  the  Battery  to  the  Bronx. 

John  Hope's  Ann  Eliza  was  the 
brightest  girl  in  Greenwich,  and  was  so 
acknowledged  from  the  time  she  first 
went  to  the  Greenwich  Avenue  School, 
near  Jefferson  Market,  to  the  time  she 
left  her  father's  home,  on  Bank  street, 
which  was  when  she  was  eighteen  years 
old,  after  having  been  her  father's 
housekeeper  for  four  years. 

Mrs.  Hope  died  when  the  fifth  baby 
was  born,  and,  besides  the  youngest, 
Ann  Eliza  had  the  care  of  two  other 
children  younger  than  she,  not  counting 


ANN    ELIZA'S    TRIUMPH.  65 

Charley,  who  was  an  office-boy  in  the 
dock  office  of  the  steamship  line  where 
his  father  was  a  clerk  and  had  been  for 
twenty  years. 

Charley  took  care  of  himself,  but 
Ann  Eliza  took  care  of  the  three  other 
children,  and  of  the  five-room  apart 
ment  where  they  lived.  Also  she 
cooked,  washed,  made  beds,  cleaned 
house,  and  even  then  had  time  to 
practise  singing  at  the  old-fashioned 
piano,  which  her  mother  owned  before 
she  married  John  Hope,  in  her  father's 
home,  in  Little  West  Twelfth  street. 

The  neighbors  said  Ann  Eliza  was  a 
credit  to  her  mother's  bringing  up  ; 
and  they  often  called  in  the  evenings 
to  hear  Ann  Eliza  play  and  sing,  and 
they  told  John  Hope  that  he  was  a 
mighty  lucky  man  to  have  a  daughter 
as  smart  as  Ann  Eliza,  and  as  strong. 
Only  Charley  helped  her  to  wash  the 


66 


NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 


dinner  dishes,  and  prepare  things  for 
the  next  day's  early  breakfast,  yet  Ann 
Eliza  had  the  rooms  cleaned  up  and 
looking  spick  and  span  before  the 
neighbors,  even  those  who  had  hired 
help,  were  through  with  the  dish  wash 
ing. 

One  of  the  neighbors  had  a  son  who 
was  a  clerk  in  a  Sixth  avenue  depart 


ment  store,  and  he  used  to  bring  the 
popular  songs  to  Ann  Eliza  so  early  in 
their  vogue  that  they  would  have  them 
all  learned,  including  quartette  parts — 


ANN    ELIZA'S    TRIUMPH.  67 

John  Hope  sang  tenor  and  Charley 
bass,  curiously  enough— long  before  the 
other  Greenvvichers  had  the  songs  half 
mastered. 

Through  the  department  store  clerk 
—his  name  was  Harold  Beeckman  and 
his  father's  great-grandfather  had 
owned  a  farm  of  many  acres  where 
Greenwich  is  now  solidly  bricked  up — 
through  Harold,  I  say,  a  publisher  of. 
songs  heard  of  Ann  Eliza,  and  after 
that  she  received  songs  by  the  score  as 
soon  as  ever  they  were  printed  ;  and 
then  Greenwich  sang  only  such  songs 
as  Ann  Eliza  made  popular. 

They  are  great  folks  over  in  that 
part  of  town  for  popular  songs.  They 
still  openly  and  boldly  indulge  in  the 
elsewhere  abandoned  habit  of  sitting 
out  on  the  front  steps  on  warm  even 
ings,  and  that,  possibly,  fosters  chorus 
singing. 


68  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

Harold  Beeckman  told  Ann  Eliza 
one  night  that  he  had  quarreled  dread 
fully  with  the  song  publisher  because 
the  latter  had  suggested  that  he  would 
be  willing  to  pay  Ann  Eliza  a  commis 
sion  on  the  sale  of  songs,  if  she  would 
agree  to  popularize  only  tiiose  pub 
lished  by  his  house. 

"  I  told  him,"  said  Harold,  severely, 
"  that  I  thought  he  was  just  as  mean  as 
he  could  be,  even  to  suggest  that  you 
would  accept  pay  for  doing  anything 
any  one  could  connect  with  stage  sing 
ing.  The  idea  !" 

Ann  Eliza  regarded  Harold  with 
such  sudden  deep  interest  that  her  big 
gray  eyes  were  for  once  wide  open  ; 
and  the  young  man  discovered  with 
rapture  that  the  more  one  saw  of  her 
eyes  the  more  beautiful  they  were — 
and  his  love  became,  if  possible,  greater 
than  ever. 


ANN    ELIZA'S    TRIUMPH.  69 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  "  the  idea  of 
that  rude  man  associating  your  name 
with — why,  of  course,  I  never  go  to 
such  places,  but  you  know  what  I  mean, 
Ann  Eliza." 

"  Harold,  I  do  not  know  what  you 
mean  or  what  you  are  talking  about. 
For  a  minute  I  thought  it  was  some 
thing  about  my  singing  in  public  on 
the  stage,  perhaps." 

Ann  Eliza  looked  radiant  as  she 
spoke  of  the  stage,  but  she  laughed 
carelessly  a  moment  later,  and  added  : 
"  No  such  luck,  though." 

u  Ann  Eliza  Hope,  do  you  know 
what  you  are  talking  about  ?  You 
ought  to  be  ashamed !"  exclaimed 
Harold,  shocked. 

"Look  here,  Harold,"  Ann  Eliza 
suddenly  retorted,  "  if  it  is  true,  what 
you've  told  me,  that  those  song  pub 
lishers  sometimes  get  girls  engagements 


70  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

just  to  have  their  songs  sung  on  the 
stage,  why,  you  send  him  trotting  down 
here  fast  as  you  can." 

Harold  thought  she  was  joking,  of 
course,  and  forgot  all  about  the  inci 
dent  a  little  later,  when  they  were  all 
in  the  parlor  singing  together. 

Ann  Eliza  did  not  forget.  In  fact  she 
thought  over  the  matter  a  great  deal, 
until  one  day  she  put  on  a  large  black 
velvet  hat  which  threw  a  shadow  al 
most  down  to  her  well  adjusted  chin, 
and  walked  forth  to  a  business  inter 
view  with  the  publisher  whose  advances 
Harold  had  met  so  .sternly.  This  inter 
view  was  the  first  of  a  series,  which 
finally  resulted  in  her  going  one  after 
noon  to  a  theatre  where  she  sang  with 
only  the  orchestra  leader— who  played 
her  accompaniment  on  a  piano — and 
the  manager  for  audience. 

All  this  she  did   without   the  knowl- 


ANN    ELIZA  S    TRIUMPH. 


edge  of  her  father,  of  Harold,  of  any 
one  of  her  acquaintances,  except  a  girl 
of  her  own  age,  who  agreed  to  go  into 
the  Hope  rooms  and  look  out  for  the 
children  while  Ann  Eliza  was  away. 

She  wanted  much  to  inform  Harold, 
because  she  would  enjoy  his  horror 
over  what  she  was  doing,  but  she  knew 
he  would  tell,  and  she  did  not  quite  like 
the  idea  of  her  fa 
ther  knowing.  He 
would  not  scold — 
he  had  never  scolded 
her  or  any  one  else 
in  all  his  life — but 
he  might  look  sur 
prised  and  hurt,  and 
she  would  not  like 
that. 

When  the  theatre 
manager  had  told 
her  to  practise  half  a  dozen  songs  be- 


72  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

fore  her  mirror,  so  that  she  would  know 
how  to  look  while  singing,  and  to  come 
back  in  a  month  and  he  might  give  her 
a  chance  to  "  do  a  turn,"  she  still  kept  it 
a  secret  from  all  but  that  one  girl  friend. 
But  how  she  practised  ! 

Even  the  baby  began  crooning  the 
songs  she  sang,  and  Horatio,  the  six- 
year-old,  could  sing  every  one  through 
without  a  mistake  in  words  or  notes. 

Then  one  evening  she  told  her  father 
and  Harold  that  she  had  accepted  an 
engagement  to  sing  in  a  vaudeville 
theatre,  and  that  her  engagement  be 
gan  the  next  night. 

Papa  Hope  looked  dazed  and  was 
silent.  He  could  not  understand,  and 
even  when  he  found  his  voice  he  only 
repeated  in  a  shocked  tone  : 

"  Why  Ann  Eliza  !  Ann  Eliza  !" 

But  Harold  made  up  for  the  other's 
lack  of  comment.  He  drew  himself  up 


ANN    ELIZA'S    TRIUMPH. 


73 


stiffly — he    was    ambitious  to    become 

a   floorwalker,    and    was    practising   a 

haughty  and  dignified  mien — regarded 

Ann  Eliza  with  a  look  of 

mingled  scorn  and  horror 

before     he      exclaimed  : 

"  Ann   Eliza    Hope,  you 

shock    and    grieve    me ! 

Imagine  the  chagrin  of  a 

Beeckman,  who  thought 

of  you  as  his  future  wife, 

when  he  hears  that  you 

even    contemplate    making    yourself   a 

show  on  the  public   stage.     No  woman 

can  expect  ever  to  become  a  Beeckman 

and    entertain   such    folly   in    her — her 

virgin  thoughts." 

Harold  was  proud  of  that  speech, 
and  observed  with  much  satisfaction 
that  it  caused  tears  to  come  to  John 
Hope's  eyes.  It  brought  evidence  of 
quite  a  different  kind  of  emotion  into 


74  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

Ann  Eliza's  gray  eyes,  and  they 
snapped  as  she  replied  :  "  I  guess  you 
don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about, 
Harold  Beeckman.  I'm  not  going  to 
make  a  show  of  myself.  I'm  going  to 
dress  just  as  I  do  here  in  the  evenings, 
and  sing  the  same  songs,  and  "—there 
was  a  note  of  triumph  in  her  voice  now 
— •"  I'm  to  have  fifteen  dollars  a  week 
to  start  with,  and  twenty-five  dollars  if 
I  make  a  hit."  Harold  started  a  little 
as  he  heard  the  amount  of  the  salary, 
for  it  was  more  than  his  own,  and  as 
much  as  John  Hope's,  but  he  only 
answered  with  increasing  scorn  : 

"  Go  your  way,  Ann  Eliza,  but  re 
turn  the  ring  I  gave  you  before  you 
disgrace  yourself  for  pelf!" 

He  got  the  ring  back  so  quickly  and 
with  such  a  look  that  he  could  not  com 
mand  another  speech  at  once. 

Then  John  Hope  spoke  in  a  tearful, 


ANN    ELIZA'S    TRIUMPH. 


75 


wandering  manner,  about  his  honest 
name  being  dragged  in  the  mire,  and 
the  memory  of  his  sainted  wife  being 
polluted,  and  a  happy  home  broken  up. 

This  made  Ann  Eliza  cry,  and  she 
was  glad  when  Charley  came  in  and 
defended  her.  But  Harold  urged  on 
John  Hope's  poor  rage,  until  there  was 
a  very  unhappy  scene,  ending  in  Ann 
Eliza  leaving  the  house  much  in  the 
manner  of  heroines  in  melodramas. 

If  I  should  tell  you  the 
name  under  which  Ann 
Eliza  made  her  vaude 
ville  debut,  I  would  not 
have  to  remind  you  of 
the  instantaneous  hit  she 
made  —  how  all  New 
York  flocked  to  the  thea 
tres  where  she  sang  the 
simple  songs  of  the  street 
—nor  to  tell  you  of  the  - 


76  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

almost  fabulous  pay  she  soon  received 
as  the  most  popular  American  vaude 
ville  singer. 

Now,  Harold  is  her  husband,  and  is 
supported  by  her  in  luxurious  idleness  ; 
and  her  father  is  her  manager,  having 
given  up  his  work  in  the  steamship 
office  at  the  same  time  Harold  resigned 
from  the  department  store. 

Charley  works  away  merrily  in  the 
steamship  office,  and  visits  Ann  Eliza 
Sunday  evenings  in  her  brilliant  rooms  ; 
and  there  they  sing  the  songs  of  the 
Greenwich  days  ;  but  Ann  Eliza  plays 
the  tunes  on  a  much  finer  piano  than 
the  little  jingling  one  by  which  they 
first  learned  those  songs  in  the  faded 
old  parlor  in  Bank  Street.  Harold's 
baritone  and  John  Hope's  tenor  are 
never  heard  in  these  Sunday-evening 
concerts,  for  Harold  and  John  are  al 
ways  engaged  elsewhere  on  Ann  Eliza's 
only  evenings  at  home. 


THE  MAN  OUTSIDE. 


TENDERLOIN  HARRY  knows  more 
about  human  nature — perhaps  I  should 
restrict  this  statement  by  saying  that  I 
refer  to  the  impulsive,  elemental  human 
nature  which  contributes  the  comedy- 
tragedy  ingredient  to  that  multi-phased 
section  of  New  York  known  as  "  the 
Tenderloin  " — and  can  read  it  at  sight 
better  than  any  one  else  I've  ever  met. 
It  gives  me  something  like  a  mental 
shiver  when  I  observe  how  pitilessly 
bare  to  his  understanding  are  the  mo 
tives  and  emotions  of  men  and  women 
who  believe  they  have  safely  masked 
their  secrets  ;  yet  it  is  the  kind  of  shiver 

[79] 


80  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

I  am  ever  ready  to  experience  for  the 
liberal  education  which  accompanies  it 
in  the  pursuit  of  "  the  proper  study  of 
mankind." 

It  was  for  that  reason  I  motioned 
Harry  to  join  me  at  the  table  where  I 
was  taking  a  noonday  breakfast  when 
he  strolled  in,  groomed,  fresh,  pink- 
cheeked  as  usual.  I  shall  not  name 
the  restaurant,  but  designate  it,  say,  as 
D—  — 1's  ;  for  to  be  too  explicit  might 
reveal  to  others  the  identity  of  the  three 
persons  concerning  whom  Harry  so  en 
tertainingly  enlightened  me.  Harry  sat 
at  my  table,  which  was  by  one  of  the 
side  windows  that  give  on  Twenty- — th 
street,  and  as  the  day  was  warm  the 
window  was  thrown  full  open. 

While  I  was  yet  alone  at  the  table  I 
had  remarked  with  considerable  curi 
osity  a  well-dressed  man  who  had  twice 
left  the  opposite  sidewalk,  come  to  my 


THE    MAN    OUTSIDE. 


81 


window  and  carefully  scanned  the  peo 
ple  in  the  restaurant. 
The  man  was  mid 
dle-aged,  but  gave 
an  impression  of 
sprightly  youth  ;  an 
impression  enhanced 
by  the  circumstance 
that  his  moustache, 
though  gray-tinged, 
was  both  curled  and 
waxed.  What  most 
fixed  my  attention  to  him,  however, 
was  a  curious  mixture  of  boldness  and 
something  which  was  not  quite  timidity 
— insecurity,  say — which  he  displayed 
when  he  searched  the  restaurant  with 
his  eyes.  It  was  evident  that  whoever 
he  sought,  he  sought  eagerly.  The  look 
in  his  eyes  was  impatient ;  even  petulant. 
Well,  Harry  joined  me,  and  soon 
afterward  the  Man  Outside  came  again 


82  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

to  the  window,  and  in  his  furtive  search 
of  the  room  his  eyes  met  Harry's,  when 
to  my  surprise,  he  flushed,  turned 
abruptly  and  walked  away. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  I  asked,  discovering  a 
contemptuous  curve  on  my  companion's 
usually  amiable  lips. 

<l  I'll  tell  you,"  he  began,  and  then  he 
added,  after  a  pause,  "  no,  I'll  show  you 
— soon." 

He  glanced  as  he  spoke  toward  two 
women  who  just  then  entered  the  room, 
taking  seats  at  a  table  near  ours.  One 
was  large,  tall,  calm,  indifferent  ;  the 
other  was  small,  daintily  formed,  of  the 
gentle-modest  type.  Each  was  exquisite 
ly  dressed,  and  appointed  in  every  detail. 
They  were  opposite  and  pronounced  in 
type,  and  each  acted  her  type  in  a  man 
ner  which  comforted  one  with  the  as 
surance  that  any  untoward  financial 
disturbance  in  their  lives  might  still 


THE    MAN    OUTSIDE.  83 

preserve  them  to  us  on  the  stage.  Even 
in  their  manner  of  removing  their  gloves 
each  was  typical  ;  the  smaller  seeming 
ly  sensible  of  a  possible  indelicacy  in 
the  growing  exposure  of  a  naked  hand, 
the  larger  calmly  deliberate,  with  com 
plete  confidence  that  when  the  opera 
tion  should  be  over  she  would  display 
a  shapely  and  perfectly  manicured 
hand  for  the  edification  of  men  and 
envy  of  women. 

Harry,  who  takes  some  pride  in  my 
training  in  such  studies,  seemed  pleased 
when  I  whispered,  "  No  woman  could 
possibly  be  as  modest  as  the  little  one 
looks,  nor  so  grand  a  dame  as  the  other 
appears." 

"  They  belong  to  the  little  play  I'm 
going  to  show  you,"  Harry  said. 

The  smaller  woman  carried  a  pretty 
purse,  which  she  placed  on  the  table  ; 
and  then  beckoned  to  a  waiter,  who 


84 


NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 


approached,     and,    to     catch    her    low 
spoken,  rapid  utterance,  bent  his  head 

close  to 
hers.  The 
waiters  at 

D 1's  are 

a  dm  irably 
trained, and 
knowing. 
There  was 
in  this  one's 
attitude  and  expression  just  a  touch  of 
familiarity  which  told  much.  When 
she  had  finished  speaking  to  him  the 
waiter  approached  our  table  and,  pre 
tending  to  perform  some  little  service 
for  us,  made  a  slight  signal  at  the  open 
window. 

The  Man  Outside  saw  the  signal,  and 
a  minute  later  entered  the  restaurant. 
He  walked  with  a  defiant  swagger  to 
their  table  and  took  a  seat  with  the  two 


THE    MAN    OUTSIDE.  85 

women.  The  waiter  did  not  place  the 
chair  for  him.  That  is  a  very  unusual 

omission  in  D 1's.     The  man  took  a 

menu  and  proceeded  to  order  a  very 
elaborate  and  expensive  breakfast,  in 
cluding  a  rare  vintage  wine.  His  voice 
swaggered  just  as  his  person  had — de 
fiantly.  The  smaller  woman  flushed 
slightly  and  looked  supremely  happy : 
the  other  calmly  studied  the  costumes 
about  her;  she  had  scarcely  noticed  the 
man.  The  smaller  woman's  hand  slipped 
as  she  broke  a  roll,  and  the  motion 
shoved  her  purse  some  distance  from 
her,  and  toward  the  man.  Later,  in 
moving  a  glass,  she  still  further  moved 
the  purse,  and  soon  after  that  the  man's 
napkin  carelessly  fell  over  the  purse, 
and  when  he  afterward  picked  up  the 
napkin  the  purse  was  no  longer  in 
sight. 

Then  Harry  said,  "  Let's  go  into  the 


86  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

other  room  and  smoke,"  and  we  did  so. 
Then  he  said  :  "  Did  you  understand  it  ?" 

"  Not  all." 

"  That  man  who  was  outside — the 
one  who  is  breakfasting  in  there  now— 
was  well  born  and  well  educated,  too," 
Harry  resumed.  "  He  never  had  much 
money  ;  only  enough  to  belong  to  one 
or  two  good  clubs,  to  keep  a  horse,  per 
haps,  and  to  live  as  most  fashionable 
men  do.  He  got  rid  of  his  money  in  a 
way  which  put  him  into  newspaper 
stories,  and  put  him  out  of  his  clubs.  I 
suppose  it  isn't  very  becoming  of  me — 
as  you  might  say — to  talk  about  men's 
morals,  but  I'd  have  some  respect  for 
that  fellow — which  I  have  not — if  he'd 
either  go  to  work  or  go  hungry.  But 
he's  not  the  only  man  in  town  with  an 
income  of  nothing  a  year  who  does  nei 
ther — well  born  and  well  educated  at 
that." 


THE    MAN    OUTSIDE.  87 


"  Do  you  mean — 

"I  mean,"  interrupted  Harry  quietly, 
"  that  that  Man  Outside  was  waiting 
for  his  breakfast." 


THE  DOG  ON  THE  ROOF. 


4"<  YES,  I  stole  the 
dog.  Maybe  it's  the 
only  thing  I  ever 
stole,  and  maybe  it 
isn't.  That's  noth 
ing  to  you,  is  it? 
You  asked  me  for 
the  story  and  I'll  tell 
it  to  you.  I  don't 
suppose  you're  a  Headquarter's  detec 
tive.  I  know  you  are  not.  Why  ? 
Perhaps  I  know  them  all.  Perhaps  it 
comes  handy  in  my  graft  to  know  them. 
That's  nothing  to  you,  is  it? 

"  I    had    a    friend — Marty.      He    was 

[9'J 


92  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

dead  square.  He  was  educated,  too, 
and  had  the  brains  to  turn  a  trick  that 
would  make  the  town  talk  about  him 
for  a  month,  but  he  wouldn't  do  it. 
He  was  just  square  all  the  way  through, 
but  he  was  my  friend. 

"You  asked  me  for  the  story,  and  I'll 
tell  it  to  you  if  you'll  print  his  name 
right  and  say  that  he  was  square. 
Never  mind  me,  it  was  him  I  was  think 
ing  of — always  thinking  of.  Whether 
I  had  all  I  wanted  to  eat  or  not,  or 
whether  I  had  a  place  to  sleep  or  not, 
it  wasn't  myself  I  was  thinking  of — it 
was  him. 

"  Well,  you  saw  the  dog  on  the  roof, 
you  say.  You  know  he  was  well-bred, 
eh?  You  know  a  thing  about  dogs, 
then.  He  took  first  prize  in  his  class 
up  at  Madison  Square  Garden.  That's 
right.  He  sold  for  a  thousand  the  next 
day — and  I  stole  him. 


THE    DOG    ON    THE    ROOF.  93 

"  My  friend's  name  was  Marty- 
Martin  Borden.  We  went  to  school  to 
gether  on  Broome  Street.  Yes,  they 
call  that  part  of  town  Poverty  Hollow, 
and  that's  right,  too,  I  guess.  He  went 
longer  than  me  ;  he  was  educated.  He 
went  up  to  fractions  ;  but  I  left  when 
my  mother  died  and  my  father  was 
sent  away.  I  guess  I  was  about  eight, 
something  like  eight,  but  I'm  not  quite 
sure.  They've  got  it  at  Headquarters 
with  my  picture.  You  can  look  there, 
if  you  like. 

"  Marty's  father  earned  good  wages 
in  a  foundry  down  by  Corlears  Hook, 
and  Marty  was  kept  in  school  until  he 
was  twelve,  I  think. 

"  He  was  always  looking  me  up  and 
taking  me  home  with  him  for  grub  and 
a  place  to  sleep,  and  even  when  he  was 
a  little  kid,  was  always  giving  me 
straight  tips  and  telling  me  I'd  do  bet- 


94  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

tor  if  I  was  square.  But  what  could  I 
do  ?  I  had  to  live.  I  had  a  ri^ht  to 

o 

live,  even  if  1  couldn't  get  work.  Isn't 
that  right  ? 

"  Well,  when  Marty's  old  man  died, 
Marty  got  work  down  in  the  foundry 
doing  little  jobs  a  kid  could  do. 

"  One  day — he'd  been  there  a  few 
years  while  I  was  doing  time — an  iron 
beam  fell  on  him  and  did  something 
queer  to  his  back.  No,  I  don't  know 
what  it  was.  The  doctors  at  Bellevue 
had  a  lot  of  long  names  for  it,  but  they 
didn't  do  Marty's  back  any  good.  I 
was  calling  on  him  every  day  and  fetch 
ing  him  things  what  I  could  get,  until 
they  said  Marty  should  go  to  the 
Island. 

"  That  near  broke  his  heart  'cause  he 
knew  it  meant  he  never  was  to  be 
cured,  and  was  to  live  over  there  in  the 
hospital  all  his  life.  I  saw  him  crying 


THE    DOG    ON    THE    ROOF.  95 

one  day  Avhen  I  went  to  Bellevue,  and 
it  near  set  me  crazy. 

''Well,  I  went  to  the  boss  doctor  of 
the  hospital  and  asks  why  had  Marty 
to  go  to  the  Island,  and  he  says  be 
cause  he  had  no  home  to  go  to.  That 
set  me  thinking.  I  got  something  that 
day — never  mind  how — and  I  rented  a 
room  and  went  to  the  boss  and  said  I'd 
take  Marty  home  with  me.  I  showed 
him  the  room-rent  receipt,  and  showed 
him  the  money  to  hire  a  carriage  to 
take  Marty  home  in,  and  they  let  me 
have  him. 

"  It  was  a  little  room  just  under  the 
roof,  with  a  step-ladder  running  up  to 
a  glass  skylight  which  had  a  sliding 
window. 

"  I  told  Marty  I  was  working,  and 
lied  about  what  my  job  was,  and  all 
about  it.  If  he  knew  how  it  was  it 
would  have  made  him  feel  terrible  bad, 


96  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITV    FULL. 

'cause,  you  see,  he  was  so  square.  The 
worst  of  it  was,  that  even  when  I  had 
money  I  couldn't  stay  home  with  him, 
'cause  then  he'd  see  I  wasn't  working, 
and  that  would  make  him  feel  terrible 
bad.  I  wanted  to  stay  home,  too, 
'cause  I  knew  he  was  lonely,  lying 
there  on  his  back  all  day,  so  weak  he 
couldn't  hold  up  a  book  or  paper  to 
read. 

"  I  was  on  Fifth  avenue  one  day, 
away  up  by  the  Park,  kind  of  looking 
round  to  see  if  anything  w^ould  come 
my  way,  when  a  young  swell  comes 
along  with  a  bull  terrier.  The  dog  was 
a  beauty.  I  saw  the  swell  hadn't 
owned  him  long,  for  the  dog  wasn't 
friendly  with  him.  I  don't  know  just 
how  it  was,  but  all  of  a  sudden  it  strikes 
me  what  good  company  the  dog  would 
be  for  Marty,  and  I  sneaks  up  and  grabs 
it.  I  made  the  chase  all  right,  for  I 


THE    DOG    ON    THE    ROOF. 


97 


don't  think    the   swell   missed   the   dog 
until  I  was  out  of  sight. 
"  I  waited  until  it 
time     for    me 


was 

to  be  home  from 
4  work,'  and  I  goes 
to  our  room  and 
puts  the  dog  on 
Marty's  bed. 

"  Of  course,  dogs 
are  better  than  most  men,  but  Marty 
was  as  good  as  a  dog,  and  those 
two  took  to  each  other  from  the 
time  they  looked  straight  into  each 
other's  eyes.  Honest,  it  is  a  wonder 
the  way  they  were  chums  from  the 
first  minute  I  put  the  dog  on  the  bed. 
I  told  Marty  I'd  found  the  dog  and 
would  look  out  for  an  advertisement 
for  it,  and  return  it.  Well,  the  adver 
tisement  came  all  right,  and  there  were 
pieces  in  the  paper  about  the  prize  win- 


NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 


ner  the  swell  had  paid  a  thousand  for, 
being  lost.  The  reward  kept  jumping 
up  every  day  until  it  was  '$250  and 
no  questions.' 

"  The  day  that  happened,  I  only  had 
enough  money  to  get  the  cheapest  kind 
of  food  for  Marty  and  the  dog,  and  I 
made  up  my  mind  I'd  return  the  dog 
and  get  a  lot  of  nice  things  for  Marty. 

"  I'll  tell  you  why  I 
didn't.  When  I  went 
to  our  room  I  thought 
first  Marty  had  gone 
crazy,  for  he  was 
laughing  like  nothing 
was  the  matter  with 
his  back,  and  there 
was  no  pains  in  his  head. 

"Comfort — that  was  the  name  Marty 
give  the  dog,  for  Marty  was  educated 
and  knew  a  lot  of  words — Comfort  was 
on  the  bed  doing  all  the  tricks  you  ever 


THE    DOG    ON    THE    ROOF.  99 

heard  of.  Marty  told  me  Comfort 
could  climb  the  ladder,  slide  back  the 
window  and  go  on  the  roof.  Honest, 
while  Marty  was  telling  this,  the  dog 
was  looking  at  him  with  his  head  on 
one  side  and  his  eyes  cocked  up  know 
ing,  and  when  Marty  stopped,  the  dog 
ran  up  the  ladder  and  was  doing  all  his 
stunts  on  the  skylight.  Every  once  in 
awhile  Comfort  would  stop  his  tricks 
and  stand  with  his  forefeet  on  the  edge 
of  the  skylight,  grinning,  and  his  ears 
cocked,  like  he  was  saying:  'How  do 
you  like  that,  Marty?' 

"  Then  he'd  dance  all  over  the  tin 
roof  and  make  a  noise  like  it  was  rain 
ing.  When  it  was  terrible  hot  up  there, 
Marty  would  say:  "  Let's  have  a  rain 
storm,  Comfort,'  and  the  dog  would  go 
up  on  the  roof  and  patter  around  with 
his  claws  on  the  tin  till  Marty  would 
call  him  down. 


IOO  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

"  So  I  didn't  take  the  dog  back  for 
the  reward. 

"  That  was  the  way  it  was  till  Marty 
—till  the  end. 

"  When  I  could  get  the  money  I'd 
have  a  paid  doctor,  but  Marty  said  not 
to.  He  knew  it  was  coming,  but  he 
never  showed  he  was  getting  punish 
ment.  Comfort  seemed  to  know  too, 
and  I  guess  he  stopped  sleeping  at  all. 
for  if  Marty  would  make  a  move  at 
night  that  wouldn't  frighten  a  fly,  Com 
fort  would  be  at  his  side  as  quick  as 
me  ;  kind  of  kissing  his  hand  and  ma 
king  little  talks  to  him,  you  know,  the 
way  dogs  do. 

"  Well,  Marty  quit  one  night  ;  one 
hand  in  mine  and  one  on  Comfort's 
neck.  The  wagon  came  for  him — I 
hadn't  any  money  that  time  fora  hearse 
— and  when  the  men  took  him  out  of 
the  room  Comfort  went  up  on  the  roof. 


THE    DOG    ON    T^E,*9ObV  1 01.' 

I  was  standing  on  the/.SideV/alk,  while 
they  were  putting  Marty  in  the  wagon, 
when  some  people  said  :  *  Look  at  the 
dog!' 

"  Comfort  was  on  the  edge  of  the 
roof  looking  down,  and  as  the  men  shut 
the  door  of  the  wagon  on  Marty  the  dog 
jumped.  I  broke  my  arm  here,  trying  to 


catch  him,  but  he  struck  the  sidewalk. 
He  licked  my  hand  when  I  picked  him 
up,  and  tried  to  tell  me  he  did  it  on 
purpose  to  die — and  then  he  died. 


102  NEAK;A;w.4OLE    CITY    FULL. 

:  -'.The  .officer  who  came  up  for  the 
crowd  recognized  the  dog,  and  I'll  get 
six  months  to-day  for  stealing  him. 
Well,  I  did  steal  him,  and  I'll  say  so 
now  ;  for  Marty's  gone,  and  he  never 
knew." 


GUARDIANS  OF  THE  LAW. 


THE  life  which 
goes  to  make  the 
seamy  side  of  the 
Tenderloin  was,  in 
those  days,  scattered 
through  the  district 
south  of  Washing 
ton  Square.  Cora 
was  of  that  life,  and 
in  her  earliest  days  there,  when  she  was 
young  and  beautiful— for  she  was  beau 
tiful,  even  up  to  the  time  of  the  great 
tragedy  in  her  life— she  was  the  dis 
trict's  most  conspicuous  figure.  Her 
wild,  tumultuous  career  furnished  gos 
sip  for  the  streets  and  cafes,  as  much  as 

[105] 


IO6  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

the  scandal  of  her  downfall,  only  a  few 
years  before,  furnished  gossip  for  the 
boudoirs  and  clubs. 

She  had  not  been  long  in  the  old 
Tenderloin  before  she  was  in  the  power 
of  the  blackmailers,  who,  appointed 
guardians  of  law  and  order,  instigated 
disorder  and  lawlessness  that  they  might 
the  more  profit. 

That  part  of  Cora's  story  was  told  to 
the  world  when  the  State  Senate  sent 
to  New  York  some  of  its  members, 
commissioned  to  make  inquiry  into  the 
methods  of  the  guardians  of  the  law, 
and  who  uncovered  such  a  hideous  sys 
tem  of  pitiless  blackmail  and  oppression 
that  they  withdrew  in  dismay,  their  task 
half  done  ;  but  that  half  served  to  work 
a  political  revolution. 

Cora  had  been  made  to  pay  more 
than  the  price  of  "  protection  "  in  her 
calling  ;  had  been  forced  also  to  pay 


GUARDIANS    OF    THE    LAW.  107 

the  police  a  large  price  for  not  giving 
up  her  child  to  "  the  Society." 

That  child,  the  pretty  eight-year  old 
boy,  Cora  would  not  part  with  even  to 
those  who  came  to  her  from  the  other 
life  from  which  she  had  fallen,  and  of 
fered  for  the  family's  sake  to  take  little 
Frank  and  give  him  a  home  where  he 
would  never  see  her  again  and  learn  to 
forget  her.  She  drove  those  people 
from  her  with  fury.  The  child  was 
hers  !  It  was  the  only  creature  on 
earth  she  loved — who  loved  her  !  Part 
with  him  ?  No  !  with  her  life  first  ! 

But  the  police  knew  another  way. 
"  Give  us  money,"  they  said,  "  or  we'll 
have  the  child  taken  from  you  by  the 
law — the  law  we  represent." 

She  raved  in  awful  passion,  but  she 
was  helpless  ;  so  she  gave  them  her 
earnings  and  kept  her  child.  But 
they  wanted  more.  She  could  earn 


108  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

more.  "  Go  and  earn  more  ;  we  want 
more." 

Then  the  time  came  when  she  could 
not  give  all  that  was  demanded,  for  the 
greed  of  her  hounding  tyrants  grew, 
and  they  arrested  her  and  took  the  boy 
with  them  to  the  police  station. 

They  would  make  a  conspicuous  ex 
ample  of  her.  The  women  of  the  dis 
trict  must  be  taught  that  these  threats 
were  not  idle  ;  that  unless  they  paid 
they  would  be  treated  like  Cora. 

She  fought  with  frenzy  in  the  police 
station  ;  and  when  they  took  the  boy 
away,  and  she  heard  him  cry  after  her, 
and  called  on  her  not  to  let  them  give 
him  to  "  the  Society  "  he  had  learned 
to  dread,  she  went  mad. 

"  Give  him  to  me,"  she  shrieked. 
"  He  is  honest  born.  Here  is  the  ring. 
See!  Here's  the  ring  on  my  finger. 
It's  all  you  have  not  robbed  me  of. 


GUARDIANS   OF    THE    LAW.  109 

Dear  God  !  Dear  God !  Don't  let 
them  take  the  boy  !  He's  honest  born. 
I'm  not  honest,  but,  dear  God,  let  me 
have  my  boy !" 

She  was  sent  away  for  six  months 
because  she  was  not  an  honest  woman, 
and  the  police  who  sent  her  away  pro 
fited  much,  for  the  women  of  the  dis 
trict  knew  the  threats  against  them 
could  be  carried  out,  and  they  paid — 
paid  their  lives. 

When  Cora  returned  from  her  first 
banishment  she  tried  to  learn  where  her 
boy  was.  There  was  none  to  tell  her. 
Had  she  been  honest  they  could  have 
refused  her,  but  who  was  she  to  ask 
questions  about  what  the  law  had  done? 
The  officers  of  that  law  drove  her  from 
street  to  street  and  warned  her  not  to 
talk  about  her  boy,  or  they  would  ban 
ish  her  again.  Then  Cora  felt  that  she 
had  been  deserted  by  God  as  well  as 


no 


NEAR    A    WliOLK    CITY    FULL. 


by  man,  and  she  cursed  Him,  and  sank 
out  of  sight  of  all  but  the  lowest,  curs 
ing  Him. 

It  is  pitiful  that  she  was  doomed 
to  exist  so  long,  in  such  a  life, 
but  so  she  lived  for  twenty  years, 
until  she  was  dragged  forth  into  the 
light  of  day  ;  one 
of  the  sodden  things 
who  sullenly  mum 
bled  their  stories 
to  the  grave  Sen 
ators,  and  instantly 
sank  out  of  sight 
again.  Out  of  sight 
of  all  but  the  guard 
ians  of  the  law,  for 
once  again  she  was 
brought  before  a 
Police  Magistrate. 
He  knew  her.  All  the  court  attend 
ants  knew  her ;  quarreling,  fighting, 


GUARDIANS    OF    THE    LAW.  Ill 

drunken  Cora.  Even  the  young  police 
man  who  appeared  before  the  Magis 
trate  knew  of  her,  though  he  had 
never  before  arrested  her.  When  he 
had  told  his  story  she  struck  him  in  the 
face  and  made  his  mouth  bleed. 

"  Prefer  an  additional  charge  against 
her  for  assault,"  said  the  Magistrate. 

"  I  don't  mind,"  said  the  officer,  wip 
ing  the  blood  from  his  lips.  "  She 
didn't  hurt  me.  I'd  rather  not,  Your 
Honor." 

"  I  order  you  to  !"  shouted  the  Magis 
trate.  "  It  will  allow  me  to  send  her 
away  so  much  longer." 

The  officer  went  over  to  the  clerk  to 
make  the  charge,  and  an  old  Sergeant 
stepped  up  to  the  Magistrate  and 
whispered  to  him  :  "  Excuse  me,  Judge, 
but  I  wish  you  wouldn't  make  the 
arresting  officer  prefer  that  charge." 

"  Why  ?" 


I  T2 


NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 


"  Well,  Judge,  he  doesn't  know  ; 
neither  does  she  ;  but — well,  Cora  is  his 
mother," 


A  DINNER  OF  REGRETS. 


tnner^ 

gJ^O^ 


IN  GEORGE  MARSDEN'S  manhood  his 
college  days  remained  his  one  senti 
mental  memory,  uridimmed  as  the  hard 
working  years  went  by — growing  deeper 
and  more  vivid  indeed,  like  the 
thoughts  of  a  boyish  love  in  one  whose 
later  years  bring  no  rival  romance. 
His  college  had  been  his  boyish  love, 
in  which  his  classmates  shared  the 
wealth  and  ardor  of  his  affections. 
They  never  guessed  this,  for  the  shy, 
scholarly  Westerner  had  no  intimates, 
and  belonged  to  no  set.  His  slight 
lameness  kept  him  out  of  all  athletics, 
and  his  meagre  allowance  gave  him  no 


Il6  NKAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

place  in  the  club  and  society  life  of  the 
college. 

He  was  as  little  known  as  any  man 
of  his  class,  yet  no  man  knew  more 
about  his  fellows  than  did  Marsden,  as 
his  rapturous  letters  to  his  mother 
told. 

She  had  come  from  college  people, 
and  persisted  in  the  long  struggle 
which  was  necessary  to  overcome  her 
husband's  reluctance  to  send  their  only 
child  "  back  East,"  for  what  in  his 
opinion  was  a  useless  and  extravagant 
education.  The  boy  ought  to  go  into 
the  mill  as  he  had  done,  said  the  father; 
but  the  mill  was  making  thousands  of 
dollars  now  where  it  had  been  making 
hundreds  then.  So  the  mother  urged 
and  had  her  way  ;  but  the  rich  mill  man 
was  obdurate  in  the  matter  of  spend 
ing  money,  and  George  was  supposed, 
by  any  of  his  classmates  who  ever  gave 


A    DINNER    OF    REGRETS.  ll^ 

the  matter  a  passing  thought,  to  be  a 
poor  man's  son,  struggling  for  an  edu 
cation. 

To  George,  however,  those  four  years 
were  a  period  of  romance,  of  ideal  ex 
istence,  from  which  he  returned  to  his 
home  with  such  emotions  as  would 
have  been  more  comprehensible  had  he 
parted  from  a  promised  sweetheart  for 
whom  he  was  going  out  into  the  world 
to  make  a  fortune. 

His  life  was  instinct  with  some  such 
thought,  too,  for  he  entered  eagerly 
into  the  never-ending  hard  grind  of  his 
father's  business,  saying  to  himself,  "  I 
will  make  myself  rich  to  endow  my 
college  ;  to  go  to  New  York,  where  so 
many  of  my  classmates  are,  and  become 
one  of  their  society  ;  renew  with  them 
all  those  dear  associations." 

With  his  mother  he  talked  over  the 
men   of   his   class  until    she,    like    him, 


Il8  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

called  them  all  by  their  first  names,  and 
would  tell  him  eagerly  the  news  of  their 
doings,  which  she  obtained  from  eastern 
papers  she  took  for  that  purpose.  In 
that  way — for  he  corresponded  with 
none  of  them — he  knew  of  Jack's  mar 
riage,  of  Tom's  renown  as  a  polo 
player,  that  Harry  was  commodore  of  a 
yacht  club ;  of  the  business  successes 
and  failures,  and  of  the  social  ambitions 
achieved — all  that  became  newspaper 
gossip  about  the  men  of  his  class. 

For  fifteen  years  there  was  no  chance 
to  reunite  with  those  old  and  romantic 
associations.  The  mill  business  grew 
until  it  wore  out  the  elder  Marsden,  and 
a  year  after  his  death,  the  widow  and 
son,  released  at  last  from  the  slavery  of 
accumulation,  willingly  closed  with  the 
offer  of  a  syndicate  to  take  over  the 
vast  money-making  plant,  and  welcomed 
the  opportunity  of  going  to  New  York. 


A    DINNER    OF    REGRETS.  119 

They  were  very  rich  now,  these  people 
whose  domestic  and  social  life  had 
been  on  the  scale  of  one  of  their  thou 
sands  of  skilled  laborers  ;  and  the  great 
est  pleasure  their  wealth  gave  them 
was  in  anticipating  the  joy  of  a  dream 
to  be  realized  when  George  should  re 
sume  the  romance  of  his  college  life. 

Before  they  started  George  wrote 
twenty  letters  to  the  men  whose  New 
York  business,  residence  or  club 
addresses  were  known  to  him. 

As  soon  as  he  had  registered  at  the 
Waldorf  he  asked  eagerly  for  his  mail, 
and  was  shocked  when  he  learned  that 
there  was  none. 

His  mother  reminded  him  reassur 
ingly  that  they  had  followed  so  soon 
after  his  own  letters  no  answers  could 
be  expected  for  a  day  or  so.  He  con 
sulted  the  hotel's  city  and  club  direct 
ories  and  found  that  he  had  made 


120  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

several  errors  in  the  addresses,  and  in 
these  instances  he  wrote  again.  It  was 
his  mother  who  suggested  that  when  he 
heard  from  his  friends  he  should 
arrange  a  reunion  dinner.  The  maitre 
d'hotel  was  called  into  consultation. 
He  was  not  much  interested  at  first.  A 
dinner  for  about  twenty  in  a  private 
dining  room  ?  He  would  arrange  it  if 
M'sieu  would  be  pleased  to  state  about 
how  much  per  plate  he  would  wish  the 
dinner  to  cost. 

"  The  question  of  price  is  not  to  be 
considered,"  said  George,  flushing  a 
little.  "  I  am  going  to  entertain  some 
old  college  friends,  and  no  expense  is 
to  be  spared  in  the  matter  either  of 
dinner,  wines,  music  or  flowers." 

The  maitre  d'hotel  was  immediately 
vastly  interested.  He  would  prepare  a 
menu  and  submit  it  with  suggestions  as 
to  music  and  decorations.  For  what 


A    DINNER    OF    R KG  RETS. 


121 


evening    should    he    reserve    a    dining 
room  ? 

George  glanced  questioningly  at  his 
mother,  who  remarked  after  a  pause  : 
"  A  week  from  to-night.  We  will  leave 
the  details  to  you." 

"Bien,  Madame.  I 
will  arrange  all.  A  week 
from  to-night,"  said  the 
maitre  d'hotel,  bowing 
his  departure. 

The  next  day  George 
loitered  in  the  lobby, 
anxiously  watching  every 
arrival  of  mail,  and  ea 
gerly  asking  for  his.  There  was  none. 
Once  he  saw  enter  and  go  to  the  cafe"  a 
man  whom  he  recognized  as  a  class 
mate,  but  he  met  the  man's  unwitting 
gaze,  hesitated,  stopped  and  returned 
to  his  seat.  He  felt  his  heart  throbbing 
as  if  he  had  been  cut  by  a  woman  he 


122  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

loved;  but  he  said  to  himself:  "  Of 
course  he  would  not  recognize  me, 
bearded  as  I  am.  He  looks  the  same 
though,  just  the  same  as  he  did  the  last 
time  I  saw  him,  carried  on  the  fellows' 
shoulders  with  the  rest  of  the  winning 
crew." 

The  next  morning  there  was  a  letter. 
It  ran  thus  : 

"  DEAR  MARSDEN  :-— I  am  glad  to 
hear  you  are  returning  to  civilization. 
Whenever  you  are  in  town  look  me  up 
at  one  of  the  clubs  to  which  I  am  send 
ing  y°u  cards." 

This  was  signed  with  the  name  of  the 
man  he  had  seen  at  the  hotel. 

"  He  knew  I  was  there,  then,"  mused 
George  mournfully,  "  and  though  he 
was  in  the  very  hotel  he  did  not  ask  for 
me." 


A    DINNER    OF    REGRETS.  123 

A  later  mail  brought  him  visitor's 
cards  for  three  clubs. 

He  talked  the  situation  over  with  his 
mother,  who  advised  that  formal  invita 
tions  to  the  dinner  be  sent  to  his  class 
mates,  and  George  acted  upon  the  ad 
vice  ;  tempering  the  formality,  however, 
with  expressions  of  the  pleasure  he  an 
ticipated  in  renewing  the  acquaintance 
of  his  expected  guests. 

On  the  following  day  there  came  a 
dozen  formal  regrets,  almost  identical 
in  wording,  and  one  effusive  acceptance. 
No  responses  whatever  were  received 
from  the  rest  of  his  invitations. 

Mrs.  Marsden  and  George  supposed 
that  those  who  had  not  declined  would 
come,  so  no  alteration  was  made  in  the 
dinner  order. 

"  Some  of  the  fellows  who  declined 
may  drop  in  after  the  other  engage 
ments  they  speak  of,"  said  George 


124  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

hopefully,  "  so  we'll  have  the  table  pre 
pared  for  them  all." 

Frank  Homer,  the  man  who  ac 
cepted,  was  the  only  one  who  came  to  the 
dinner.  He  was  received  in  Mrs. 
Marsden's  parlor,  for  the  widow  had 
expressed  an  eager  desire  to  meet  her 
son's  friends. 

Homer  was  faultlessly  dressed  and 
he  was  demonstratively  polite  in  his 
greetings.  While  they  still  supposed 
that  other  guests  would  arrive,  Homer 
was  plied  with  questions  about  the 
men  of  the  class,  and  though  his  an 
swers  were  glibly  given,  his  listeners 
soon  discovered  that  they  were  random 
guesses. 

As  the  time  passed  and  it  became 
evident  that  the  others  were  not  coming, 
Homer's  confidence  and  assertiveness 
grew.  George  was  sick  at  heart  when, 
3  half  hour  after  dinner  had  been 


A    DINNER    OF    REGRETS.  125 

announced,  he  said,  with  a  forced 
laugh : 

"  Well,  Homer,  you  and  I  will  be 
gin  the  feast  without  waiting  for  the 
others." 

The  idea  crossed  his  mind  of  aban 
doning  the  private  dining  room  and 
taking  his  single  guest  to  the  cafe,  but 
he  could  not  give  up  the  belief  that 
others  would  come  ;  so  the  two  men 
sat  down  to  a  table  prepared  for  twenty- 
one. 

The  host  was  overcome  much  more 
by  sorrow  than  by  mortification.  His 
mind  refused  to  realize  the  truth,  and 
devised  almost  whimsical  excuses — 
causes  which  could  suddenly  affect  a 
dozen  of  his  expected  guests  ;  possibly 
he  had  misdated  his  invitations. 

For  a  time  he  was  almost  unconscious 
of  Homer's  presence,  and  did  not 
notice  his  guest's  amazing  consump- 


26 


NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 


tion  of  wine  until  he  was  suddenly 
aroused  to  the  other's  condition  by  his 
insolent  braggadocio. 

It  must  have  been  his  instinct,  for  he 
had  no  experience  in  such  matters, 
which  then  revealed  Homer  to  him  in 
his  true  character — a  drunken  sponger. 

The  distressing  dinner  came  to  a  close 
at  last,  when  Homer,  after  a  third  glass 
of  brandy,  ordered  a  waiter  to  bring 
him  pen  and  ink.  The  waiter  obeyed, 
and  Homer,  taking  a  blank  check  from 
his  pocket,  filled  it  out,  saying  to  the 
waiter  :  "  Take  that  to  the  office  and 


A    DINNER    OF    REGRETS.  1 27 

have  it  cashed  for  me,"  but  turned  in 
stantly  to  George  and  said  :  "  Perhaps 
you  have  the  amount  in  your  pocket, 
old  man,  it's  only  a  hundred." 

Marsden  silently  handed  the  bills  to 
his  guest,  who  pocketed  them  and  then, 
filling  a  champagne  glass  with  brandy, 
said  with  a  grin  : 

"  Pardon  me  for  not  having  congratu 
lated  you  before,  old  man,  on  the  sale 
of  your  mills.  I  saw  an  account  of  it 
in  a  financial  paper,  so  I  know  that  this 
sum  is  a  mere  trifle  to  you." 

Marsden,  with  sudden  determination 
said  stiffly  : 

"  May  I  ask  if  that  is  why  you  ac 
cepted  my  invitation  to  dinner  ?" 

Homer  took  up  his  brandy  and  drank 
it  before  he  replied  : 

"  Why,  old  chap,  you've  been  square 
with  me,  so  I  don't  mind  telling  you 
that  I  came  to  your  dinner  because  I 


128  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

should  have  gone  without  one,  other 
wise." 

Marsden  only  half  suppressed  a  bitter 
sigh.  Homer  regarded  his  host  a  mo 
ment  with  a  pitying  smile  and  then 
said  : 

"  That  check  of  mine  may  come  back 
to  you  marked  '  No  Funds,'  it's  a  way 
my  checks  have,  so  I'll  square  accounts 
by  giving  you  some  valuable  advice  : 
The  next  time  you  get  up  a  class  din 
ner,  let  me  know  a  little  in  advance, 
and  I'll  send  the  boys  marked  copies  of 
that  financial  paper.  Then  you  won't 
have  any  regrets." 


THE  NIGHT  ELEVATOR  MAN'S 
STORY. 


"You  seen  her  here, 
eh  ?  She  was  a 
pretty  kid,  too,  for 
sure.  Lots  of  peo 
ple  asked  me  why  I 
had  her  in  the  ele 
vator  here  with  me. 
No,  not  lots,  you 
know,  cause  there 
ain't  lots  what  ride  in  this  elevator  ;  but 
nearly  everyone  what  did  wanted  to 
know  all  about  the  kid.  I  didn't  tell 
them  mostly,  cause  when  she  was  asleep 
I  didn't  like  to  talk  and  wake  her  up, 
so  I  just  didn't  say  nothing. 

4i  It  was  like  this  that  I  first  fetched 


132  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

her  in  the  elevator  :  I  was  passing  by 
her  floor  and  heard  her  cry.  Well,  I 
took  my  passenger  up  to  the  floor 
above,  and  coming  down  I  heard  her  cry 
again.  It  wasn't  a  cry  like  the  kid  was 
hurted,  or  I'd  gone  in  the  room  right 
away.  It  was,  you  know,  like  the  kid 
was  scared,  see  ?  Well,  I  came  clown 
to  the  ground  floor  landing  and  tried  to 
read  my  paper,  but  all  I  could  do  was 
just  to  hear  that  kid  a-crying.  I 
couldn't  hear  it  for  fair,  you  know  ;  I 
couldn't  hear  it  right,  I  mean,  but  I 
could  hear  it,  just  the  same.  Kind  of 
in  my  mind  I  could  hear  it,  you  know. 

11  Well,  I  kept  making  a  bluff  at  read 
ing  my  paper,  but  all  the  time  I  wasn't 
doing  a  thing  but  just  hearing  in  my 
mind  that  kid  up  there  on  the  fifth 
floor,  crying  like  it  was  scared- 
frightened,  you  know. 

"  After  a   bit  I  couldn't  stand   for   it 


THE    NIGHT    ELEVATOR    MAN  S    STORY      133 

no  longer,  so  I  just  pulled  up  to  the 
fifth  and  listened,  and  there  was  the 
kid  crying — sobbing,  you  know — and 
for  sure,  just  as  I'd  heard  it  in  my 
mind,  see  ? 

"  Say,  it  wasn't  my  business  all  right, 
but  I  just  let  myself  in  with  the  pass 
key,  and  I  goes  to  the  crib  where  the 
kid  was,  and  I  gives  it  a  jolly,  see  ? 
'  What's  the  matter  with  us,  kiddie  ?' 
says  I  ;  and  say,  she  catches  my  hand 
with  one  of  her  soft  little  hands,  and 
says,  you  know,  with  her  little  kid  kind 

of    talk,    she    says   that   the   bogy   man 

was  after  her. 

"  So  I  says  what  bogy  man  ;  and  she 

says  the  bogy  man  her  mamma  told  her 

would  catch  her  if   she   wasn't   a   good 

little   girl,  and  kept  still   all    the    time 

her  mamma  was  away. 

"  I  had  to  leave  her  then,  for  some 

one  was  ringing   up   the   elevator  ;  but 


134  NKAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

when  I'd  took  the  passenger  to  his 
floor  I  goes  back  to  the  kid,  and  she 
was  crying  worse  than  before,  so  I 
grabs  her  up'  with  a  blanket  and  takes 
her  out  in  the  elevator  with  me. 

"  Say,  she  liked  that  up  to  the  limit. 


We  talked  with  each  other  to  beat  the 
band,  and  I  told  her  stories  till  she 
went  to  sleep  on  the  long  seat  there. 

"  I  got  her  to  bed  and  all  tucked  in 
before  her  mother  come  home,  and  it 
wasn't  very  early  at  that. 

"  People  in  this  kind  of  apartment 
house  don't  always  come  home  too 


THE    NIGHT    ELEVATOR    MAN*S    STORY.      135 

early,  and  there  ain't  much  talk  about 
it  when  they  do — particular  the  women. 

"  Well,  the  next  night  I  heard  the 
kid  crying  again  and,  say,  honest,  she 
was  calling  my  name. 

"  '  Dannie,'  she  was  saying  ;  'Dannie 
turn  take  me,  Dannie.'  Say,  you  know 
that  fetches  me  quick.  It  was  the  same 
story  again  ;  her  mother  had  told  her 
the  bogy  man  would  come  and  bite 
her  hands  off  if  she  made  any  noise, 
and  she  was  crying  because  she  thought 
the  bogy  man  was  there. 

"  I  took  her  out  in  the  elevator 
again,  wrapped  up  in  the  blanket,  and 
then  she  says,  comfy  as  a  bull  pup  on 
a  fur  rug;  'Tell  me  a  story,  Dannie/ 
says  she. 

"  Well,  I  never  thought  I  could 
make  up  so  many  yarns  as  I  did  for 
that  kid.  You  know,  yarns  about 
fairies  what  are  in  books  printed  for 


136  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

kids.  I  never  read  any  of  those 
books  myself  until  I  bought  one  for 
her  ;  and  she  never  had  none  until  I 
bought  that  one.  I  read  the  stories  all 
day  until  I  knew  them  for  fair,  and 
they  were  not  so  bad,  even  for  me, 
at  that.  Then  I'd  tell  her  the  stories, 
and  make  up  others  about  the  mugs— 
the  folks,  I  mean — what  were  in  the 
book. 

"  That  was  because  I  got  to  taking 
her  out  to  the  elevator  every  night. 
The  housekeeper  told  me  that  the 
mother  mostly  slept  all  day,  and,  to 
keep  the  kid  quiet,  the  mother  would 
make  her  dopey  in  the  day  time,  and 
that  was  the  reason  the  kid  couldn't 
sleep  at  night. 

"  I  wasn't  minding  it,  cause  I  got  to 
want  the  kid  with  me  as  much  as  the 
kid  wanted  to  come. 

"  We  was  getting  great  chums.     We 


THE    NIGHT    ELEVATOR    MAN  S    STORY.      137 

near  wore  out  that  fairy  book,  and  she 
knew  all  the  stories  in  it  for  fair,  as 
well  as  me  ;  and  every  night  in  the 
long  hours  when  nobody  almost  used 
the  elevator,  I'd  make  up  new  yarns 
till  she'd  go  to  sleep  as  quiet  as  a 
kitten,  there  on  the  seat  where  you 
seen  her. 

"One  night  I  showed  her  a  picture  in 
a  paper,  and  it  was  about  a  little  kid 
what  was  playing  with  a  doll — you 
know,  a  little  kid  about  her  size.  She 
looks  at  the  picture  a  long  time,  and 
when  I'd  told  her  about  a  hundred 
stories  about  it,  she  says,  '  Dannie, 
what's  a  doll  ?' 

"  Honest,  that  breaks  me  all  up.  I 
wasn't  brought  up  too  fine  myself,  but 
for  sure  I  seen  plenty  of  dolls,  even  in 
our  tenement,  which  this  house  would 
buy  twenty  of  them. 

"  Well,  the  next  day  I  bought  a  doll, 


138  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

and  some  dresses  for  it,  and,  say,  you 
should  seen  the  kid  that  night  !  She 
wouldn't  go  to  sleep,  and  my  stories 


wasn't  in  it,  a  little  bit.  She  dressed 
and  undressed  that  doll  a  million  times, 
and  loved  it  till  it  was  near  busted  to 
pieces. 

"  That  kind  of  fetches  me,  you  know 
— kind  of  fetches  me  silly.  I  wondered 
what  kind  of  woman  the  kid's  mother 
could  be,  but  I  never  found  out.  She 
skipped — but  left  the  kid  behind. 

"  I  was  for  taking  the  kid  home  with 


THE    NIGHT    ELEVATOR    MAN  S    STORY.      139 

me,  'cause,  you  see,  she  didn't  seem  to 
care  about  her  mother  being  gone 
so  long  as  she  could  ride  up  and 
down,  up  and  down  in  the  elevator  with 
Dannie,  and  play  with  the  doll,  and 
hear  my  stories — you  know,  the  yarns 
I'd  make  up  for  her  about  the  fairy 
folks  in  the  book. 

"  But  the  cop  on  this  beat  heard  of 
the  case  and  reported  it  to  the  Society. 
A  Gerry  agent  came  and  took  the  kid. 
He  had  a  paper — you  know — a  paper 
from  the  Court  House,  so  I  had  to  let 
her  go. 

"  She  cried  a  good  bit,  but  I  gave 
her  the  raggy  doll  and  the  worn  book, 
and — and — say,  it's  kind  of  lonesome 
riding  up  and  down  here  at  night  with 
out  her,  'cause  I  can  hear  her  cry — not 
for  fair,  you  know,  but  my  mind  can 
hear  her  when  I  tries  to  read  my  paper 
— and  can't." 


BY  WHOM  THE  OFFENCE  COMETH, 


LENA'S  father  and  mother,  with  three 
children,  one  older  and  one  younger 
than  Lena,  came  to  New  York  and  went 
to  live  in  Ludlow  Street,  a  little  below 
Hester,  when  she  was  six  years 
old.  They  took  two  rooms  ;  one  hav 
ing  windows  opening  on  the  tenement 
court,  the  other,  an  inside  room  with 
out  light ;  and  they  let  the  dark  room 
to  three  boarders,  men  who  came  over 
on  the  ship  with  them. 

['43] 


144  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

The  father  rented  two  sewing  ma 
chines,  and  he  and  his  wife,  the  two 
older  children  and  the  three  boarders 
began  making  clothing  for  the  man  who 
had  rented  them  the  machines.  Lena 
helped  at  first  pulling  threads,  and  in  a 
little  while  did  some  of  the  hand-sew 
ing.  But  her  father  learned  that  nearly 
all  the  families  in  the  neighborhood 
sent  at  least  one  child  to  school,  that 
there  might  be  a  member  who  could 
speak  English  ;  and  so  it  was  deter 
mined  to  send  Lena  to  school.  This 
was  not  decided  upon  until  it  was  found 
that  the  younger  sister,  four  and  a  half 
years  old,  could  pull  threads,  and  might 
soon  be  taught  to  do  the  rough  sewing 
Lena  had  done,  and  that  Lena,  herself, 
by  beginning  at  daylight  and  working 
till  school  time,  and  working  after 
school  until  dark,  could  still  toil  five  or 
six  hours  a  day  on  the  sweaters'  task, 


BY    WHOM    THE    OFFENCE    COMETH.        145 

and  thus  her  labor  was  not  wholly  lost 
to  the  family. 

Lena  learned  rapidly  to  speak,  read, 
and  write  English — so  rapidly,  that  her 
father  would  have  taken  her  from 
school  when  she  was  eight  years  old, 
but  for  the  further  advantage  of  hav 
ing  one  in  the  family  with  sufficient 
knowledge  of  figures  to  keep  a  check 
on  the  sweater.  This  outweighed  the 
immediate  gain  of  another  pair  of 
hands  always  in  the  work-shop  home  to 
help  in  the  constant,  endless  battle 
against  eviction  and  starvation,  These 
were  the  reasons  Lena  was  not  taken 
from  school  until  she  was  ten  years  old. 
Then  she  returned  to  the  all-day  work 
with  the  other  members  of  the  family 
and  the  three  boarders  ;  eight  toilers  in 
one  room  which  had  such  daylight  as 
struggled  through  the  murky  court. 

The   schoolroom   had  been  so  over- 


146  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

crowded  that  the  Health  Board  was 
always  complaining  to  the  School  Board, 
which  complained  to  the  Aldermen, 
who  complained  to  the  Legislature, 
which  sent  Investigating  Commitees, 
which  wrote  illuminative  Reports  which 
enlightened  no  one  because  they  were 
not  read  ;  but  that  swarm  of  toiling 
men,  women  and  children  in  one  small 
room,  where  five  of  them  slept  and  all 
of  them  ate,  was  worse  than  anything 
Lena  ever  endured  at  school.  The  life 
was  hideously  repulsive  to  her.  She 
rebelled. 

Her  father  tore  his  beard  and  cursed 
the  day  when  he  had  been  so  blind  a 
fool  as  to  allow  a  child  of  his  to  be 
taught  to  despise  her  station,  to  im 
bibe  wicked,  extravagant  notions,  un 
fitting  her  to  do  in  silence  and  without 
complaint  all  that  her  strength  permit 
ted.  That  was  her  Jot  in  life.  How 


BY    WHOM    THE    OFFENCE    COMETH.       147 

else  were  they  to  live?  He  wept  aloud. 
Why  should  Lena  rebel  that  so  many 
of  them  worked  and  ate  and  slept  in 
but  two  rooms  ?  Why  should  she  re 
proach  him  with  the  boarders,  while  her 
sisters  did  not?  How  else  did  their 
neighbors  live  ? 

So  Lena  toiled  on,  sullenly  silent, 
rebellious  only  within. 

In  summer,  the  hours  were  cruelly 
long  ;  all  worked  from  daylight  to  dark, 
dumb,  sombre,  hopeless,  through  the 
sweltering  days  ;  men,  women  and  chil 
dren  half  naked  in  the  torture  of  the 
heat.  But  when  not  a  ray  of  daylight 
remained  to  guide  another  stitch,  Lena 
would  leave  the  others  gasping  at  the 
open  windows  or  in  the  poisonous 
court,  or  in  the  reeking  street  littered 
with  withered  children  and  foul  gar 
bage,  and  hurry  to  the  river  front,  where 
boys  and  girls,  not  much  older  than 


148  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

she,  met  in  wayward  freedom,  breathed 
fresh  air,  danced  on  the  dock,  and 
drank  beer  when  any  of  the  young  men 
had  money. 

There  was  one  young 
man,  ferret-faced,  cow 
ard-eyed,  who  often  had 
money.  He  gave  Lena 
scarf-pins  and  other  val 
uable  trinkets  which  he 
told  her  to  pawn  ;  and 
she  would  do  so  and 
divide  the  money  with 
him.  She  did  not  know 
at  first  that  he  was  a  thief,  but  she 
guessed  it  when  she  saw  that  at  a  sig 
nal  from  the  lookout,  warning  them  of 
a  policeman's  approach,  he  would  slip 
like  a  rat  into  the  river  and  disappear 
under  one  of  the  wharves. 

One  night,  she  was  not  quite  fourteen 
years  old  then,  Lena  did  not  go  home. 


HY    WHOM    THE    OFFENCE    COMETH.        149 

It  was  two  weeks  before  the  oldest  sis 
ter  learned,  and  told  her  father,  that 
Lena  had  taken  up  with  a  pickpocket, 
not  of  their  race. 

It  came  of  her  being  educated  beyond 
her  class  ;  made  dissatisfied  with  her 
lot  among  her  people  !  The  father 
spoke,  dry-eyed  and  solemn,  as  one  who 
pronounces  doom :  henceforth  there 
was  no  sister  Lena,  and  it  was  to  be  as 
if  there  never  had  been.  But  the  moth 
er's  work  was  splashed  with  tears  for 
many  days,  although  she  did  not  men 
tion  that  child — her  brightest,  her  fair 
est,  her  best-beloved — ever  again. 

Lena,  and  Bat  the  pickpocket,  lived 
in  many  places,  but  always  west  of  the 
Bowery,  for  she  wished  not  to  meet  any 
of  her  people,  and  she  knew  they  never 
went  further  west  than  that  thorough 
fare.  Sometimes  the  two  left  the  city 
hurriedly  and  went  to  live  across  one  of 


150  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

the  rivers,  where  Bat  would  hide  in 
their  rooms  for  days.  At  such  times 
Lena  would  pawn  the  trinkets  and 
clothes  Bat  had  given  her,  and  when 
the  money  she  got  in  that  way  was 
gone,  if  Bat  had  word  from  New  York 
that  he  could  not  yet  leave  his  hiding, 
Lena  would  go  to  the  big  stores  and 
steal. 

Once,  when  there  was  a  great  parade 
on  Fifth  Avenue,  Bat  took  Lena  with 
him  by  devious  west-side  ways  to  Wash 
ington  Square.  He  skulked  like  a  wolf 
about  the  lower  side  of  the  Square  until 
the  police  were  called  away  from  the 
protection  of  his  prey  to  clear  the 
Avenue  for  the  parade.  Then  he  slipped 
suddenly,  stealthily,  into  the  crowd  on 
the  end  of  the  Avenue,  and  was  soon 
passing  stolen  booty  to  Lena  following 
close,  her  heart  throbbing.  Besides 
taking  the  stuff  he  passed  to  her,  Lena's 


BY    WHOM    THE    OFFENCE    COMETH.        151 

duties  were  to  signal  at  the  approach 
of  the  police,  to  watch  the  men  Bat 
robbed,  and  if  any  gave  alarm  before 
Bat  was  at  a  safe  distance,  she  was  to 
pretend  to  faint  close  to  the  victim, 
thus  drawing  around  him  a  denser 
crowd,  so  that  he  could  not  give  pur 
suit. 

They  worked  along  the  lower  end  of 
the  Avenue,  and  in  spite  of  the  strain 
and  excitement  of  this  terrible  hazard, 
some  vagrant  perception  of  Lena's,  un- 
enlisted  in  the  main  purpose  of  her 
mind,  thrilled  at  the  rare  spring  beauty 
of  the  Square,  at  the  blissful  peace  sug 
gested  by  the  calm  and  stately  old 
houses,  which  then  were  settings  for 
such  loveliness  as  she  had  not  dreamed 
woman  could  express.  She  had  never 
seen,  never  fancied  anything  like  this. 
Once  the  tense  tragedy  of  the  seconds 
slipped  vholly  from  her  mind  as  her 


152  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CtTY    FULL. 

furtive  gaze  was  caught  and  fascinated 
by  the  picture  at  an  open  window  of  a 
fair,  pure-browed  girl,  joyous  with  the 
stirring  pomp  of  the  passing  pageant. 
Suddenly,  as  Lena  gazed,  she  saw  that 
radiant  young  face  pale  with  shock  as 
an  officer  gripped  the  shoulder  of  a 
white-faced  thief  in  the  crowd  ;  and 
that  same  instant  the  outcast's  glimpse 
of  Paradise  was  ended  by  Bat's  signal 
to  her  to  escape. 

Bat  was  sent  away  to  prison  for  a 
long  time.  When  he  was  sentenced 
Lena  had  tried  to  kiss  him  good-by,  but 
he  had  cursed  her  for  her  stupid  inat 
tention  which  had  resulted  in  his  arrest. 

Lena  left  the  court-room  penniless, 
for  of  course  all  that  the  pawn  shops 
yielded  had  been  given  to  Bat,  and  she 
could  not  steal,  as  the  police  were 
watching  her  closely.  Something  drew 
her  to  the  Chinese  restaurant  in  Mott 


BY   WHOM    THE    OFFENCE    COMETH.       153 


You  wantee 
experienced, 


street  which  she  had  frequented  with 
Bat.  She  thought  it  was  hunger,  and 
because  she  could  get  credit  there  ;  but 
when  Chung,  the  proprietor,  brought 
her  tea  and  food  she  could  not  eat. 
Yet  she  was  racked  by  appetite — a  tu 
mult  of  bodily  demand,  a  horrible,  un- 
satiated  craving  ! 

"  The  habit  is  on  you. 
pipe,"  said  Chung  the 
observing. 

"Yes,  my  God, 
opium  !"  the  girl  gasped, 
clutching  the  Chinaman 
in  sudden,  fierce  joy  at 
the  understanding  of  her 
desire. 

"  Chung  velly  good 
man.  Him  give  you  pipe  all  you 
wantee,  and  plittee  clo',  heap  plittee 
cloV  Chung  said  this  to  her  some 
hours  afterward. 


154  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

For  a  year  Lena  was  one  of  the  white 
slaves  in  Chinatown.  She  and  the 
other  white  slaves,  as  they  visited  each 
other  to  smoke  opium  and  languidly 
discuss  their  chances  of  "  lasting  "  much 
longer,  would  laugh  sometimes  at  the 
stories  that  their  owners  had  guards  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  Chinese  quarter  to 
prevent  their  escape. 

"  Nothing  could  drive  us  away  from 
here — away  from  the  pipes — but  the 


Morgue    wagon,"    they    would    say    as 
they  laughed. 


BY    WHOM    THE    OFFENCE    COMETH.        155 

Lena  did  not  seem  to  be  "  lasting." 
Chung  observed  this  with  Oriental 
equanimity,  and  told  her  one  day, 
when  she  said  she  could  not  get  up  to 
dress,  that  she  had  to  ;  she  must  go,  for 
he  had  another  slave.  Lena  protested 
feebly.  Then  he  beat  her,  and  she  said 
she  would  go.  Some  of  the  other 
women  helped  her  to  dress  and  she 
dragged  herself  away.  She  was  going 
to  some  friends  she  said. 

It  was  just  such  a  bright  spring  day 
as  that  on  which  Bat  had  been  arrested. 
In  her  half-torpor  she  longed  to  see 
again  that  beautiful,  fresh  green  Square, 
and  the  quiet,  peaceful  old  homes. 
Perhaps,  too,  she  would  see  that  pure- 
browed  girl  who  looked  as  the  angels 
must  look.  She  tried  to  hurry,  but 
could  not,  and  it  was  dark  when  she 
reached  Washington  Square.  She  was 
very  tired  and  weak,  but  when  she 


'56 


NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 


stopped  to  rest  the  police  ordered  her 
to  move  on.  She  crossed  the  Square 
slowly,  painfully  ;  and  the  young 
French  and  Italian  mothers,  out  in  the 
open  there  with  their  babies,  sighed 
and  looked  sor 
rowfully  after  her 
when  they  had 
seen  her  face  in 
the  flashes  of  the 
electric  lights. 

More  slowly, 
more  painfully, 
Lena  dragged  her 
self  up  the  avenue 
to  the  house 
where  she  had 
seen  the  beautiful 
girl,  and  now  when 
she  saw  its  win 
dows  closed  and  shaded  she  moaned, 
and  wandered  on  aimlessly.  But  when 


BY    WHOM    THE    OFFENCE    COMETH.        157 

she  had  walked  a  few  blocks  further  all 
her  strength  had  ebbed  and  she  stag 
gered  against  a  stately,  church-like 
building,  sagged  and  sank  down  and 
died.  Two  men  turning  to  enter  the 
building  held  the  skirts  of  their  coats 
aside  that  they  might  not  touch  the 
poor,  huddled  figure.  They  were  go 
ing  in  to  a  meeting  of  the  Board  of  For 
eign  Missions  to  urge  the  sending  forth 
of  more  men  to  teach  in  distant  lands 
the  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ. 


THE  REWARD  OF  MERIT. 


"  GET  to  work  or  get  out  of  here." 

"  Well,  I  have  a  right  to  wages  if  I 
work." 

"  You  get  your  bed  and  board  and 
clothes.  What  more  do  you  want  ?  If.  I 
gave  you  a  licking,  1  guess  you  wouldn't 
be  so  funny  about  wages." 

"  Kids  that  sell  papers  and  black 
boots  get  more  than  I  do  ;  they  have 
the  price  of  a  theatre  ticket  once  in  a 
while.  I  don't." 

The  latter  speaker  was  a  sharp-faced 
lad  of  sixteen  or  eighteen  years,  judg 
ing  from  his  stature  and  slight,  unset 
frame.  He  had  the  look  of  a  man  ;  a 
very  knowing  man  ;  an  ugly,  vicious 

[161] 


162 


NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 


man  just  then,  for  he  was  scowling  sul 
lenly  at  the  Chatham  Square  saloon 
keeper,  his  father,  with  whom  he  was 
talking. 

Larry,  the  boy,  was  seated  at  one  of 
the    drinking     tables,    slouched    down 


deep  in  his  chair,  his  hat  dragged  over 
his  eyes  so  low  that  his  head  was 
thrown  far  back  as  he  glared  at  his 
father,  who  was  standing  at  the  end  of 
the  bar,  near  the  heavy  beer  keg  cooler. 
A  customer  entered,  sat  down  at  one 
of  the  tables  and  ordered  a  glass  of 


THE    REWARD    OF    MERIT.  163 

beer.  When  Mike  Golden  had  drawn 
the  beer  he  motioned  Larry  to  serve 
it,  but  the  lad  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  slouched  towards  the  door.  The 
father  suddenly  turned,  picked  up  a 
light  bar  glass  and  threw  it  at  his  son. 
It  struck  him  in  the  back,  but  evidently 
did  not  hurt  him.  He  opened  the  door 
and  held  it  open  as  he  turned  and  said, 
"  That  settles  it.  You  can  pay  wages 
to  some  one  to  do  my  work  ;  and  don't 
you  forget  this  :  I'll  get  even  with 
you." 

Then  he  went  out  of  the  place. 

Golden  did  not  seemed  angered  ;  not 
even  much  annoyed.  He  swore  a  little 
at  his  son,  and  remarked  to  the  cus 
tomer  :  "  That's  the  thanks  a  man  gets 
for  bringing  up  a  kid  like  a  gentleman. 
He  never  had  to  do  a  stroke  of  work 
for  a  living — only  help  around  here  a 
little.  He's  smart  enough  to  get  into 


164  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

something  good — something  in  your 
line — for  he  can  write  elegant,  and 
spell  any  word  you  give  him.  His 
mother  was  that  way — educated.  Any 
thing  on  this  morning  ?" 

"Yes,  I'm  staked  out  here  for  Billy. 
He's  got  a  come-on  from  New  Jersey 
that  I'm  to  steer  to  the  turning  joint." 

Mike  Golden's  place  was  a  head 
quarters  for  "  green-goods  "  swindlers. 
Victims  were  brought  there  by  mem 
bers  of  the  gang,  who  met  them  by 
appointment  in  some  neighboring  town, 
took  them  to  Golden's  and  introduced 
them  to  other  men,  who  took  them  to 
the  "turning  joint,"  the  place  where 
the  victims  exchanged  good  money  for 
waste  paper.  It  was  a  profitable  busi 
ness  for  Golden,  as  it  not  only  brought 
him  liberal  customers,  but  he  was  finan 
cially  interested  in  the  swindle. 

His  neighbors  envied  him,  not  alone 


THE    REWARD    OF    MERIT.  165 

for  the  immediate  profit  he  was  known 
to  make,  but  also  because  his  connec 
tion  with  the  swindlers  insured  him  im 
munity  from  police  interference  and 
blackmail,  to  which  his  less  fortunate 
neighbors  were  sorely  subjected. 

Larry  wandered  down  Park  row 
musing  on  his  fortunes.  There  was 
nothing  very  desperate  in  his  case  ;  he 
could  return,  he  knew,  to  his  father's 
place,  as  he  had  returned  before,  and 
surfer  nothing  more  than  a  severe 
thrashing  for  his  mutiny. 

But  he  disliked  the  prospect  of  that 
more  now  than  he  ever  had  before. 
Why,  too,  he  asked  himself,  should  he 
be  kept  at  work  around  the  saloon  with 
no  money  for  amusement,  except  the 
little  change  he  could  steal  from 
drunken  or  careless  customers  ?  Many 
of  these  customers  themselves  were 
little  more  than  boys,  certainly  only  a 


1 66  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

few  years  older  than  he  ;  yet  they 
sometimes  had  pockets  full  of  money 
they  got  by  swindling  games,  or  steal 
ing.  He  was  as  clever  as  any  of  them, 
yet  his  only  opportunities  were  in  steal 
ing  their  change  ! 

He  bought  a  bundle  of  afternoon 
papers  and  started  up  Broadway.  He 
had  done  that  many  times,  yet  there 
was  a  new  purpose  in  his  mind  now, 
and  it  was  so  sudden  and  intense,  it 
showed  in  his  face  so  plainly,  that 
genuine  newsboys  he  passed  whispered 
to  each  other,  "  Fake  !" 

Larry  did  not  call  out  his  papers 
until  he  was  in  the  comparatively  quiet 
streets  of  the  wholesale  dry-goods  dis 
trict  west  of  Broadway.  He  sold  to 
several  customers,  who  handed  him 
exact  change  for  the  purchases,  before 
he  was  stopped  by  an  elderly  man, 
evidently  a  merchant,  who,  after  fum- 


THE    REWARD    OF    MERIT. 


i67 


bling  in  an  outside 
pocket  of  his  top-coat 
for  pennies  which  he 
could  not  find,  un 
buttoned  the  coat 
and  brought  out  a 
dollar  bill  from  an 
inside  pocket,  say 
ing : 

"  Can     you     make 
change,  boy  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Larry's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  heavy 
gold  watch  chain  crossing  the  mer 
chant's  waistcoat.  He  pretended  to 
be  hampered  in  making  change  by  his 
bundle  of  papers. 

"  Will  you  hold  them,  please  ?"  he 
said,  offering  his  bundle  to  the  man, 
and  forcing  a  smile  into  his  face,  which 
he  suddenly  felt  to  be  bloodless  and 
drawn. 


l68  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

The  man  who  still  held  his  dollar 
bill  in  one  hand,  good-naturedly  took 
the  papers  in  the  other,  and  at  that  in 
stant  Larry  made  a  quick,  sharp  jerk 
at  the  chain.  Something  parted  ;  he 
felt  the  watch  swinging  in  his  hand, 
and  he  darted  away,  turning  around  a 
loaded  truck  just  as  the  man  gave  his 
first  cry  :  "  Stop  thief!" 

Porters,  clerks,  truckmen,  rushed 
first  to  the  robbed  man  and  then  in  the 
direction  they  were  told  Larry  had 
taken,  toward  Broadway.  Larry  had 
doubled  around  two  or  three  trucks 
and  darted  into  a  doorway,  from  which 
he  soon  emerged  with  others  attracted 
from  within  by  the  excitement ;  and 
when  Broadway  was  reached  he  was 
lagging  behind  in  the  crowd  which 
supposed  it  was  pursuing  him. 


THE    REWARD    OP    MERIT.  169 

It  was  nearly  midnight,  and  the 
head  of  the  green-goods  gang  was  in 
Golden's  saloon,  drinking  with  the 
proprietor,  and  making  a  settlement  of 
the  day's  profits.  The  Jerseyman  had 
only  bought  two  hundred  dollars  worth 
of  green  goods,  and  Golden's  share — 
twenty  dollars — had  just  been  paid  to 
him,  when  a  policeman  entered  the 
place,  nodded  familiarly  to  Golden  and 
his  companion,  and  motioned  the  for 
mer  to  follow  him  into  a  back  room. 
There  he  said,  laughing  : 

"  Your  kid  is  up  against  it,  Mike." 

"  Larry  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  pinched  a  watch  and 
shoved  it  at  Sampson's  for  five  dollars. 
He  could  have  got  twenty  if  he'd 
known  his  business." 

The  officer  laughed  pleasantly 
again. 

Golden    did    not   seem     to    see    the 


170  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

humor  of  the  story,  for  he  scowled  and 
said,  with  an  oath  : 

"  How  much  to  fix  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  as  it's  you,  Sampson  only  wants 
ten,  and  ten  will  do  me." 

Golden  gave  the  officer  the  twenty 
dollar  bill  he  had  just  received,  and 
asked  : 

"  Have  you  located  Larry?" 

"  Easy  ;  at  the  Tivoli  Theatre.  Do 
you  want  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  damn  him,  I  want  him,"  the 
father  replied,  angrily. 

In  an  hour  the  boy  was  brought  to  the 
saloon.  He  was  more  rebellious  and 
sullen,  than  frightened. 

"I'll  take  the  nonsense  out  of  you, 
my  boy,"  his  father  said. 

Golden  had  told  Tom,  the  green- 
goods  man,  the  story,  and  Tom  had 
been  impressed  with  the  spirit  displayed 
by  the  boy. 


THE    REWARD    OF    MERIT.  171 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him, 
Mike  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Why,  I'm  going  to  hammer  the 
hide  off  his  back." 

"What  for?" 

"What  for?  It  cost  me  twenty  dol 
lars  to  square  the  job.  That's  what 
for." 

"  But  that  isn't  the  boy's  fault.  Next 
time  he'll  know  enough  to  come  to  you 
and  find  out  where  there's  a  safe  fence 
to  put  a  watch  up  in.  Hasn't  a  boy 
got  to  learn  ?" 

"Well,  I'll  teach  him  not  to  learn  at 
my  expense." 

Tom  regarded  the  boy  amiably  a 
moment  and  then  said  : 

"  Your  old  man  tells  me  that  you  are 
keen  at  writing,  and  spelling,  and  fig 
ures,  Larry." 

"  I  am ;  but  what  good  does  that  do 
me  serving  beer  ?"  Larry  responded, 


172  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

regarding  his  questioner  hopefully,  for 
his  shrewd  mind  had  half  divined  the 
purpose  of  the  question. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Mike,"  the  other 
man  said.  "  I  can  give  the  boy  a 
chance.  We  need  another  letter  writer, 
and  if  Larry  can  do  the  trick  there's 
fair  pay  in  it,  anyway.  Don't  lick 
him  this  time.  He's  got  good  spirit 
and  nerve,  and  it  ain't  right  to  break 
them.  He'll  need  them  in  our  game." 

So  Larry  was  soon  at  work  copying 
forms  of  letters  which  are  sent  out  to 
inquiring  gullibles,  setting  forth  the 
advantages  of  dealing  in  green  goods. 

Pretty  soon  he  ventured  improve 
ments  on  the  forms  ;  and  before  a  year 
he  was  considered  the  best  composer  of 
letters  in  the  gang.  Then  he  was  tried 
at  other  work  ;  piloting  "  come-ons  "  to 
the  city  ;  steering  them  to  the  turning 
joint,  and  in  both  kinds  of  work  his 


THE    REWARD    OF    MERIT.  173 

calm  nerve  distinguished  him  as  a  su 
perior  in  his  profession. 

Tom,  the  leader,  remained  his  patron 
and  promoted  his  interests  until  the 
most  difficult  work  of  all  was  assigned 
to  Larry — that  whereby  worthless  pa 
per  is  substituted  for  the  decoy  package 
of  good  money  on  which  the  victim  has 
feasted  his  greedy,  dishonest  eyes. 

Now  Larry  is  the  assistant  manager 
of  the  most  prosperous  "green-goods  " 
concern  in  New  York  ;  and  as  an  evi 
dence  of  his  power  and  influence  he 
deprived  his  father  at  one  time  of  the 
patronage  of  the  business." 

"  I  told  you  I'd  get  even  with  you," 
he  replied  when  his  father  begged  Larry 
not  to  ruin  him  in  his  old  age. 

Don' t  do  me  wrong  like  that,  Larry," 
his  father  said,  whimpering. 

The  successful  young  man  relented 
after  a  while,  and  restored  the  patron- 


NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 


age  to  his  fa 
ther,  saying: 

"I  just 
wanted  to 
show  you  that 
I  knew  my 
business  when 
I  told  you  I 
was  a  b  o  ve 
stealing  small 
change  from 
little  crooks. 
I'm  a  gentle 
man,  I  am." 
"You  are,  Larry,  my  boy,  and  I'm 
proud  of  you." 


l 


THE  HOUSE  OF  YELLOW  BRICK. 


IN  the  lower  part  of  Pell  street  there 
is  a  house  the  people  of  the  block  call 
the  "  yellow  brick.  '  Nearly  all  the 
houses  thereabout  are  brick,  and  many 
of  them  are  painted  yellow,  but  this  one 
alone  is  so  called.  It  may  be  that  it  is 
the  only  house  that  has  been  painted 
within  the  memory  of  the  oldest 
resident  of  the  quarter,  and  so  took  its 
name  ;  for  an  event  of  the  kind  would 
be  much  talked  of,  and  become  a  part 
of  the  Chinatown  folk  lore. 

Now,  for  example,  in  this  matter  of 
tradition,  which  becomes  folk  lore  in 
the  quarter :  Kate  never  knew  the 
woman  who  was  strangled  to  death  by 


178  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

a  Chinaman  in  the  yellow  brick  ;  neither 
did  the  woman  Kate  succeeded  in  the 
back  room  up  two 
flights  ;  nor  did  that 
woman's  predeces 
sor  know  the  stran- 
g  1  e  d  woman,  yet 
they  all  frequently  told  the  story,  talked 
about  it,  thought  about  it,  dreamed 
about  it.  It  occurred  ten  years  ago, 
and  Kate  was  the  fourth  tenant  of  the 
room  since  then,  for  the  women  live 
only  about  three  years  after  they  go 
into  the  quarter. 

Some  live  longer — much  longer— if 
they  do  not  "  get  the  habit  ;"  do  not 
become  slaves  of  the  opium  pipe.  But 
there  arc  few  who  do  not  indulge  them 
selves  in  the  delight  of  forgetfulness. 
And  who  shall  condemn  them  for  this 
lesser  sin  which  enables  them  to  escape 
—if  only  in  dreams — the  hideousgreater 


THE    HOUSE    OF    YELLOW    BRICK.         179 

tragedy  of  their  lives  ?  Yet  because  it 
is  known  to  kill  most  of  its  white  de 
votees  more  quickly  than  all  their  other 
vices,  they  weakly  fight  the  opium  habit, 
and  many  are  killed  by  it  while  still 
maintaining  the  pathetic  fiction  that 
they  are  not  its  victims. 

"  I'll  never  get  the  habit,"  Kate  said 
to  the  woman  who  occupied  the  room 
inside  of  hers.  That  inside  room  was 
totally  without  natural  light  or  ventila 
tion,  unless  Kate,  as  she  sometimes  did, 
lighted  and  ventilated  it  by  opening  a 
door  which  connected  the  rooms,  and 
gave  the  two  tenants  an  opportunity 
for  social  visits. 

"  I'll  never  get  the  habit,"  she  re 
peated  to  Julie,  "  for  they  say  you  go 
terrible  fast  after  you  get  the  habit. 
Is  it  so,  Julie?" 

Julie  gave  a  quick  glance  at  Kate, 
saw  the  half  wistful,  half  frightened 


l8o  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

look  in  her  young  face,  and  then 
answered  carelessly,  "  Oh,  there's  them 
as  says  the  pipe  isn't  so  bad  as  that. 
The  Chinamen  smokes  all  their  lives 
and  no  harm." 

"  But  they  say  that's  because  they 
are  Chinamen,  and  that  whites  is 
always  done  by  it." 

Julie  made  no  reply  at  once.  She 
was  boiling  a  tin  pot  of  coffee  on  the 
little  stove.  Kate  had  sent  out  to  No. 
Sixteen  an  hour  ago  for  the  coffee,  but 
when  it  came  she  did  not  want  it  ;  and 
Julie,  coming  in  and  seeing  her  condi 
tion — for  Julie  herself  was  dying  of 
the  habit,  and  knew  the  signs — urged 
Kate  to  drink  the  coffee,  and  the  girl 
promised  to  do  so  if  it  was  heated 
again. 

"  Did  you  know  the  girl  who  was 
strangled  in  this  room  ?"  Kate  asked, 
when  she  had  taken  the  cup  of  hot 


THE    HOUSE    OF    YELLOW    BRICK.         l8l 

coffee  and  placed   it   on    the    oil-cloth 
covered  table  by  her  side. 

"  Sure  not,"  Julie  replied,  laughing. 
The  women  of  that  quarter  laugh  not 
infrequently.  If  you  could  hear  their 
laughter  you  would  rather  hear  them 
weep.  "  That  was  ten  years  ago,  and 
I'm  here  only  three  years.  How  long 
is  this  you've  been  here,  Kittie  ?" 

"  It's  two  years  come — why,  it's  two 
years  to-morrow,  New  Year's  day." 

"  And  you  was  seventeen?" 

"  Sixteen,  then,"  Kate  answered. 

"  That  accounts  for  the  hurry  way 
she's  going,"  Julie  said,  under  her 
breath,  for  she  knew  that  the  youngest 
girls  succumb  quickest  in  the  quarter. 
She  knew  that  Kate  had  had  the  habit 
only  a  year,  for  she  did  not  smoke  the 
first  year  she  was  there,  and  was  al 
ready  dying  ;  whereas  Rose,  the  negro 
woman  who  lived  on  the  floor  above, 


182         NEAR  A  WHOLE  CITY  FULL. 

had  had  the  habit  four  or  five  years, 
and  was  a  strong  woman  yet,  to  the 
amazement  of  the  white  slaves. 

"  Drink  the  coffee,  Kittie,  it's  good 
for  you,"  Julie  said. 

Kate  stirred  the  coffee  and  took  a 
few  spoonfuls,  plainly  to  please  her 
companion,  and  then  asked  with  nerv 
ous  eagerness : 

"  Did  you  go  to  church  on  Christ 
mas  ?" 

"  Sure  I  did.  I  never  miss  church 
on  Christmas.  All  the  girls  were  there 
— nearly  all,  except  you." 

"  I  smoked  too  much  the  night  be 
fore,  and  didn't  wake  up  at  five 
o'clock." 

"  We  all  stayed  up  so  as  not  to  miss 
early  service." 

"  Was  it  good  ?"  Kate  asked. 

;<  Yes,"  Julie  said;  ''it  was  awful 
good.  I  got  blue  and  cried."  She 


THE    HOUSE    OF    YELLOW    BRICK.         183 

laughed  a  little  as  she  said  this,  and 
Kate  laughed  too. 

Rose,  the  negro  woman,  came  into 
the  room,  looked  sharply  at  Kate,  and 
then  said  to  Julie  : 

"  Won't  she  drink  the  coffee  ?" 

"  I  don't  want  it,"  Kate  said  wearily; 
but  the  other  women  induced  her  to 
drink  some. 

"  I'll  stay  up  to-night,"  she  remarked 
after  awhile,  "  and  go  to  church  at  five 
in  the  morning." 

"  I  wouldn't  smoke,  then,"  Rose 
said,  "  until  after  the  church.  It's  ter 
rible  unlucky  to  be  dopey  in  church. 
It's  only  once  in  a  year  that  you  need 
to  go." 

"  I  won't  smoke  if  you'll  stay  with 
me,  Julie,  and  help  me  to  keep  from 
it,"  Kate  said.  "  I  haven't  got  the 
habit,  you  know — I  wouldn't  get  it — • 
but  I  feel  terrible  like  a  pipe  now.  I 


184  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 


won't  get  ratty  if  you'll  stay,  Julie. 
I'd  like  to  go  to  church  New  Year's 
morning  because  I  remember — no,  I 
won't  smoke,  or  get  ratty  if  you'll  stay, 
Julie." 

Kate  said  this  with  such  fluttering 
affright  and  despairing  apprehension  in 
her  voice  that  the  women  exchanged 
sympathetic  glances,  and  assured  her 
they  would  remain  and  aid  her  in  her 
purpose. 

They  did  stay, 
and  had  a  hard  time 
keeping  the  girl 
from  throwing  her 
self  out  of  the  win 
dow  on  to  the  stones 
of  the  court  below.  But  by  the  use 
of  such  remedies  as  they  knew,  they 
had  Kate  asleep  for  a  couple  of 
hours,  before,  supported  by  Julie,  she 
started  out  in  the  black,  chill  morning 


THE    HOUSE    OF    YELLOW    BRICK.          185 

air  to  walk  to  the  church  on  Mott 
street. 

They  were  on  their  knees  in  the  back 
of  the  church  when  a  woman  softly 
knelt  by  Julie's  side,  called  her  sister, 
and  asked  if  she  might  pray  for  her. 

"  Speak    to    her,    lady,"    Julie    whis- 


1 86         NEAR  A  WHOLE  CITY  FULL. 

pered,  motioning  to  Kate's  swaying 
form.  "  Speak  to  her  ;  she's  going 
first — and  soon." 

The  woman  drew  close  to  Kate, 'and 
put  an  arm  around  her,  or  she  would 
have  fallen.  She  called  her  sister,  and 
asked  her  to  pray. 

Kate  looked  into  the  woman's 
beautiful,  beatified  face,  and  answered 
in  a  frightened  whisper,  "  I  can't, 
lady." 

"  Were  you  never  taught  ?" 

"  Yes,  lady,  but  I  forget — I  never 
forgot  until  now.  Now  I  forget — you 
see  it  was  two  years  ago — will  you — 
will  you  pray  for  me  ?" 

The  woman  held  the  girl  in  both  of 
her  arms,  and  whispered  prayers  for 
her  soul  while  Kate  softly  wept  and, 
after  a  little,  remembered  a  child's 
prayer,  and  sobbed  it  out. 

When  the  early  morning  service  was 


THE    HOUSE    OF    YELLOW    BRICK.         187 

over  the  woman's  arm  was  still  round 
the  girl,  and  it  was  she,  and  not  Julie, 
who  supported  Kate  through  the  gray 
dawn,  in  the  silent,  sullen  streets,  back 
to  the  yellow  brick,  and  up  the  dark 
stairs  to  Kate's  room. 

"  May  I  come  and  see  you  again  ?" 
the  visitor  said,  at  the  door. 

"  Yes.  When  ?"  the  girl  gasped 
longingly,  as  if  clutching  the  woman 
with  her  voice. 

"  To-day.  I'll  come  back  at  nine 
o'clock.  It  will  be  a  New  Year's  call." 

She  called  at  the  hour.  Julie  met 
her  and  said,  "  Some  One  called  before 
you,  lady." 

The  visitor  looked  into  the  room  and 
murmured,  "  I  did  not  think  it  would 
come  so  soon." 

"  She  might  have  lived  another  day, 
a  week,  or  perhaps  a  month,  but  she 
would  not  smoke  after  you  left," 


1 88  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

explained  Julie.  "  She  told  me  to  say 
to  you,  lady — and  it  was  the  last  thing 
she  said — that  she  was  afraid  if  she 
smoked  she  would  forget  the  prayer 
you  helped  her  to  remember." 


THE  LITTLE  LIFE  OF  PIETRO. 


HE  was  such  a  very  little  boy  that 
the  teachers  of  the  Mission  School  won 
dered  if  it  would  not  be  necessary  to 
send  one  of  the  older  scholars  for  him 
every  day.  This  was  when  Maria,  his 
mother,  brought  him  there  to  ask  if  he 
could  come  every  morning  and  stay 
until  evening. 

The  gently  bred  lady  who  was  devot 
ing  her  life  to  mission  work  in  the  most 
congested — and  therefore  the  most  de 
praved — district  of  the  East  Side,  ex 
plained  that  Pietro  would  be  welcome 
there  every  day,  would  be  amused  and 
taught,  and  kept  safe  while  his  parents 
were  at  work.  That  was  the  purpose 
of  the  school. 


I92 


NEAR    A   WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 


Then  she  asked  the  young  mother 
some  questions  about  the  nationality, 
age  and  employment  of  herself  and  hus 
band,  as  is  the  custom.  The  husband 
and  father  "worked  around,"  Maria 
said,  and  she  "  worked  out."  The  teach 
er  gave  a  quick  glance  at  the  young 
woman's  hands  and  asked  no  further 
questions  about  the  kind  of  labor  she 
performed. 

Pietro  did  not  have  to  be  sent  for,  or 
escorted  home.  He  knew  the  streets 

too  well— alas! 
he  knew  little 
else — to  be  in 
danger  of  los 
ing  his  way.  He 
was  old  enough 
to  be  taught 
to  read,  but 
seemed  to  be  a 
slow-witted  boy,  which  was  the  more 


THE    LITTLE    LIFE    OF    PIETRO.  193 

surprising  because  uncommonly  bright 
and  alert  eyes  lighted  up  his  thin  little 
face. 

"  We  shall  be  able  to  make  some 
thing  of  Pietro,  yet,  when  we  once 
arouse  his  mind  into  any  degree  of 
life,"  the  teacher  said  one  day  to  her 
assistant,  after  they  had  been  talking  to 
Pietro,  trying  to  find  a  point  of  intelli 
gence  on  which  to  begin. 

A  little  later  she  missed  her  purse 
which  had  been  supposedly  safe  .in  a 
usually  inaccessible  skirt  pocket.  Pietro 
was  missing,  too,  although  it  was  an 
hour  before  the  school's  closing  time. 
"  We've  found  the  point  of  intelli 
gence,"  remarked  Miss  Hastings,  the 
teacher,  with  a  smile,  and  she  resolved 
to  seek  the  suspected  culprit  when  the 
school  was  dismissed. 

She  was  familiar  with  the  district  and 
soon  found  Pietro's  home;  where,  in 


194  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

view  of  the  purpose  of  her  visit,  she  en 
tered  without  knocking.  She  inter 
rupted  a  family  quarrel.  Maria's  hus 
band  had  beaten  her  because  she  insisted 
upon  returning  the  pocketbook  Pietro 
had  stolen  from  the  teacher. 

The  woman  denied  the  beating  when 
Miss  Hastings  entered  the  little  tene 
ment  room.  Of  course  it  was  her  duty 
to  do  so,  but  her  husband,  being  both 
drunk  and  angry,  was  indiscreet,  and 
said  defiantly  that  he  had  whipped  his 
wife,  and  had  done  so  because  she 
wanted  to  take  the  money  Pietro  had 
"found."  He  wanted  the  money  to 
buy  food  for  his  little  boy. 

The  child,  hearing  this,  laughed.  He 
had  a  bottle  in  his  hand  which  he  was 
waiting  to  take  out  and  have  filled  with 
gin.  That  was  the  kind  of  "  food"  the 
father  wanted  to  buy,  and  as  the  child 
was  actually  hungry,  the  lie  made 


THE    LITTLE    LIFE    OF    PIETRO.  195 

him  laugh  and  sneer  ;  an  expression  of 
emotion  not  agreeable  in  a  boy  of  Pie- 
tro's  age — if  you  ever  happen  to  hear 
it. 

Maria  handed  the  purse  to  Miss  Hast 
ings,  and  said  :  "  Well,  then,  he  did  lick 
me  'cause  I  wouldn't  let  him  blow  in  the 
stuff  the  kid  pinched  off  you,  lady.  I 
wonder  the  father  wouldn't  have  more 
respect  than  that — you  being  good  to 
the  kid.  But  the  man's  drunk  now, 
lady,  so  I  hope  you'll  not  have  him  ar 
rested.  He  wouldn't  done  it  if  he'd 
been  sober." 

"  Is  it  true  that  you  have  no  food,  at 
all?"  asked  Miss  Hastings. 

"  There  ain't  never  no  food,"  volun 
teered  Pietro. 

u  Have  you  no  work  ?"  she  asked  the 
husband. 

He  turned  his  back  and  swaggered  to 
the  court  window  before  he  replied : 


196  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

"  No,  an  honest  man  can't  get  no 
work." 

Miss  Hastings  knew  the  man  was  a 
sneak  thief  and  had  asked  the  question 
only  to  be  kind.  He  added,  suddenly 
turning  on  Maria  with  a  snarl,  "  And 
she  don't  earn  nothing — with  the  cops 
always  chasing  her  off  the  street." 

Maria  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands  and  wept.  "  You  know  well 
enough  what  I  am,  lady,"  she  wailed, 
piteously.  "  I  saw  that  you  knew  when 
I  first  took  Pietro  to  you,  but  I  wanted 
him  brought  up  good.  Now  you  won't 
take  him  back,  I  suppose,  and  he'll  have 
to  go  on  the  street  and  steal,  until  the 
Society  gets  him." 

The  thought  of  the  "Society  "  caused 
little  Pietro  to  add  his  lamentations  to 
his  mother's.  Of  course,  he  knew  noth 
ing  about  the  "  Society ;"  to  such  as 
he,  it  is  only  the  bogy  man. 


THE    LITTLE    LIFE    OF    PIETRO.  197 

Miss  Hastings  said  quietly,  that  she 
saw  more  reason  than  she  had  known 
before  why  she  should  continue  to  give 
Pietro  her  daily  care,  and  told  the 
mother  to  send  him,  as  usual,  the  next 
day.  She  sent  some  bread  and  meat  to 
the  room,  and  perhaps  was  thinking  of 
it  that  evening,  for  she  did  not  answer 
a  woman  who  asked  her,  at  a  dinner 
party,  if  she  did  not  find  slumming  full 
of  amusing  experiences. 

Pietro  fulfilled  the  promise  of  his 
eyes,  for  he  was  soon  an  uncommonly 
apt  pupil,  especially  in  the  kindergar 
ten  work,  where  dexterity  of  fingers 
counted.  He  became  very  fond  of 
Miss  Hastings,  and  from  time  to  time, 
brought  her  presents  of  watches,  jew 
elry  or  umbrellas  which  she  turned  over 
to  the  captain  of  the  precinct  police, 
who  usually  found  a  rightful  owner  for 
the  results  of  Pietro's  skill,  and  com- 


198  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

pounded  a  felony  with  Miss  Hastings 
in  aiding  her  to  protect  the  thief.  He 
was  a  good  and  experienced  captain, 
and  because  of  his  admiration  for  Miss 
Hastings  and  her  work,  he  cheerfully 
lied  about  any  subject  when  she  consid 
ered  it  expedient  for  him  to  do  so  to 
further  her  effort  to  ultimately  reform 
Pietro.  But  the  police  captain  assured 
her  that  the  case  was  hopeless.  "  I 
have  known  both  the  father  and  mother 
since  they  were  Pietro's  age,  and  their 
fathers  and  mothers  before  them.  It's 
bad  blood,  Miss,  and  can't  be  cured, 
but  of  course  I'll  help  you,  as  long  as 
you  want  to  try,"  he  often  said. 

You  see  the  captain  was  both  wise 
and  indulgent. 

"  Me  mudder's  sent  t'  de  Island  for 
six  mont's,"  Pietro  announced  to  Miss 
Hastings,  one  day. 

"And  your  father?" 


THE    LITTLE    LIFE    OF    PIETRO. 


199 


"  He  aint  got  a  t'ing  but  money," 
Pietro  answered,  proudly.  "  He's  drunk 
all  de  time.  He  must  have  turned  a 
great  trick." 

Miss  Hastings 
knew  what  had  hap 
pened;  that  the  po 
lice,  tired  of  "  chas 
ing  her  off  the 
streets,"  had  arrest 
ed  Maria,  and  that 
the  father's  "  great 
trick  "  would  prob 
ably  deprive  Pietro 
of  paternal  care, 
also.  It  was  this 
knowledge  which 
p  r  o  m  p  te  d  Miss 
Hastings  to  set  in  motion  the  legal 
machinery  which  would  place  Pietro 
under  the  care  of  the  Society.  She 
thought  he  had  divined  her  purpose 


2OO 


NEAR    A   WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 


and  was  hiding,  for  he  was  absent  from 
school  the  next  day.  The  next  she  re 
ceived  word  from  the  Society's  agent, 
asking  her  to  call  at  Pietro's  home  ;  the 
boy  had  made  the  request,  the  agent 
wrote. 

When    she    reached    the    room    she 
found  there,  besides  the  agent,  a  doctor 


who  was  just  going  out.  The  neigh 
bors  said  the  father  had  made  Pietro 
drink,  and  had  beaten  him  to  make 
him  do  so. 


THE    LITTLE    LIFE    OF    PIETRO.  2OI 

"  If  I  had  been  called  a  few  hours 
earlier,"  said  the  doctor,  drawing  on  his 
gloves,  "  I  might  have  counteracted  the 
effect  of  the  alcoholic  poison  and  saved 
the  little  fellow." 

Miss  Hastings  looked  down  at  the 
white,  still  little  face  and  said  :  "  He  is 
saved." 


WHEN  A  MAN  JUDGES. 


"  PAUL  can  marry  daughter  when  he 
has  a  thousand  dollars  in  the  bank. 
I've  said  it,  and  I'll  stick  to  it.  It  is 
right,  or  I'd  not  say  it." 

"  But  David,"  said  his  wife,  "  we  have 
many  thousands  ;  one  of  them  could 
be  spared." 

"  Martha,  you  know  exactly  how 
many  thousands  we  have,  and  it's  right 
you  should,  for  you've  helped  me  save 
them,  all  these  years.  They  seem 
many  to  us,  for  we  think  of  how  small 
the  start  was,  but  they  are  no  more 
than  a  spendthrift  could  waste  in  a  few 
years." 

"  But  Paul's  no  spendthrift,  David." 

[205J 


206 


NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 


Mrs.  Martens  laid  her  hand  on  her  hus 
band's,  and  he  took  it,  patted  it  not 
ungently  with  his  hard  and  deeply 
seamed  hand  as  he  answered  :  "  We 
do  not  know  what  he  is  inclined  to  be 


with  money,  except  as  we  can  judge 
from  what  his  father  was — yes,  and  a 
little  more  ;  Paul's  saved  nothing  yet, 
though  he's  been  earning  full  wages  in 
the  Works  for  six  months  now." 

"  But  he's  had  expenses,  David,  ex- 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  207 

penses  it  makes  us  proud  to  know  he 
has  had.  He'd  to  buy  a  dress  suit  to 
go  to  his  class  dinner." 

"Aye,  and  preside,"  added  David 
Martens,  with  a  touch  of  eagerness  in 
his  voice. 

Mrs.  Martens  went  to  the  dining- 
room  mantle-piece,  and  took  from  be 
hind  the  clock  a  newspaper  clipping. 
She  put  on  her  spectacles  and  read 
aloud,  as  she  had  many  times,  an  item 
under  the  head,  "  Notes  of  College 
Societies,"  wherein  it  was  told  how 
Paul  Josselyn  had  presided  with  "  dis 
tinguished  wit,"  at  his  Technology 
School  class,  in  a  fashionable  hotel. 

"  Paul  has  fine  friends,"  David  Mar 
tens  said,  after  a  pause  during  which  he 
seemed  to  be  giving  himself  time  for 
full  appreciation  of  what  his  wife  had 
read.  "  They  have  practical  value,  too, 
when  one  is  educated  like  Paul.  It's 


208  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

the  scientific  knowledge,  such  as  Paul 
has,  that  makes  the  head  men  in  in 
dustries  these  days.  The  mechanical 
knowledge  don't  carry  us  to  the  front 
any  longer." 

"  It's  carried  you  near  to  the  front, 
David  Martens,"  his  wife  said  proudly. 

"  Yes,  Martha,  it's  carried  me  to  the 
office  of  Superintendent.  There  I  stop. 
Paul  may  be  President  some  day,  for 
he  has  the  scientific  knowledge,  and 
that  I  never  had." 

"  President  of  the  Works !"  almost 
gasped  Mrs.  Martens.  "  Yet  David, 
you  won't  give  your  consent  to  his 
marrying  Frances." 

The  old  mechanic  turned  to  his  wife 
with  a  quaint  smile  :  "  You  women 
folks  are  always  taking  it  that  the  best 
that  can  happen  is  sure  to  happen. 
Paul  may  be  President  of  the  Works 
some  day.  Yes,  that  is  so,  but  he'll 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  209 

never  be  even  a  foreman  unless  he  has 
the  material  in  him  which  will  make 
him  save  a  thousand  dollars  when  he 
knows  he  must  save  that  to  have  rny 
consent  to  marry  Frances." 

"  They  love  each  other  very  much," 
Mrs.  Martens  said,  which  was  not  by 
way  of  an  answer,  but  because  Frances 
was  her  only  child. 

"  And  I  love  Frances,"  David  an 
swered  simply. 

Just  then  from  the  parlor  they  heard 
Frances  playing  softly  on  the  piano. 
Mrs.  Martens  smiled,  though  there 
were  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  It's  time  for 
Paul  to  come,"  she  said,  "  and  that  is 
the  tune  he  likes  best. 

"  If  I  did  not  love  her,"  continued 
David,  as  if  he  had  not  been  inter 
rupted,  "  I  might  not  be  so  set  in  my 
mind  to  see  how  Paul  is  to  be  with  his 
money.  His  father  made  more  money 


210  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

in  the  Works  than  I  did,  for  he  in 
vented  many  improvements  in  machin 
ery  and  the  Directors  paid  him  well, 
but  he  died  penniless." 

"  He  gave  Paul  a  fine  education," 
Mrs.  Martens  suggested. 

"  No,"  answered  David  reluctantly. 
"  No,  Paul  was  put  through  the  school 
by  the  Directors.  I  never  told  you 
that,  but  it  is  so.  The  father  was  to 
repay  the  advance,  but  he  died,  and 
some  of  us  paid  for  his  funeral." 

Mrs.  Martens  sighed  and  then  was 
silent.  "  If  Paul  comes  straight  from 
the  ferry  he  should  be  here  by  this 
time,"  David  said,  glancing  at  the 
clock. 

"  Never  fear  his  going  to  his  room 
before  he  comes  here  after  being  away 
from  the  city  for  a  week,"  commented 
Mrs.  Martens,  smiling  confidently. 

"  He's  a  young  man  to  be  sent  alone 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  211 

to  install  that  plant  in  Baltimore  ;  he's 
been  in  the  Works  but  two  years,  draw 
ing  a  man's  wages  but  six  months  of 
that  time.  In  my  beginning  days,  a 
man  would  have  been  in  the  Works 
ten  years  before  he'd  be  trusted  with 
the  work  Paul  was  sent  to  Baltimore 
to  do,"  mused  the  Superintendent. 

"  But  you're  not  counting  the  four 
years  in  the  School,  he  put  in  studying 
what  you  learned  at  the  bench,"  com 
mented  the  wife. 

"Aye,  more  than  I  learned  at  the 
bench,"  the  old  man  said  a  little  sadly. 
"  Paul  knows  all  the  science  of  the 
Works,"  and  then,  turning  to  his  wife 
with  a  kindly  smile,  he  continued,  "  I've 
done  with  all  my  old  prejudice  against 
book-learning,  Martha,  and  it  was  you 
who  made  me  give  up  that  prejudice 
when  you  argued  me  into  sending 
Frances  to  the  College.  If  anything 


212  NEAR    A   WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

should  happen  to  what  we  have  saved, 
Frances  could  earn  a  living  in  half  a 
dozen  ways  and  yet  not  have  to  do 
drudgery  work." 

"  Frances  is  educated  to  take  the 
station  of  a  lady,"  the  mother  said  sim 
ply.  "I  wonder  what  keeps  Paul." 

A  servant  brought  a  telegram  to  the 
dining-room.  It  was  an  unusual  form 
of  message  to  be  received  in  that  home, 
and  Mrs.  Martens  and  Frances,  who 
had  come  to  the  dining-room,  waited 
apprehensively  as  David  adjusted  his 
spectacles,  opened  the  message  and 
read  aloud  slowly  : 

"  Delayed  by  an  accident.  I  am  un 
hurt.  Will  be  at  the  house  at  nine 
o'clock  this  evening.  PAUL." 

Richard  Josselyn,  Paul's  father,  and 
David  Martens  had  been  craft-fellows 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  213 

in  the  Works  for  thirty  years.  Most  of 
that  time  Josselyn  had  been  Martens' 
superior,  but  when  he  died  he  held  the 
position  of  foreman  of  the  Draughting 
Department,  whereas  Martens  was  not 
only  Superintendent  of  all  the  Works 
but  was  a  stockholder  and  director  in 
the  Company.  He  had  always  saved, 
even  when  his  wages  were  smallest,  and 
had  invested  his  savings  invariably  in 
the  stock  of  the  Company.  He  had 
never  done  anything  brilliant  for  the 
works,  yet  his  economical  methods,  his 
sure  knowledge  of  workmen,  his  unfail 
ing  promptness  in  keeping  the  Com 
pany's  obligations  in  all  contracts,  had 
long  made  him  recognized  as  the  Com 
pany's  most  valuable  employe.  Since 
he  had  become  a  director  there  had 
never  been  a  strike  nor  the  threat  of  a 
strike  among  the  thousands  of  me 
chanics  employed  in  the  Works. 


214  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

Richard  Josselyn  had  invented  a 
score  of  labor-saving  devices  and  some 
tools  which  had  been  adopted  by  the 
Works,  and  for  whose  patents  he  had 
been  paid  large  prices,  but  for  one  suc 
cess  he  had  made  a  dozen  disastrous 
failures  in  his  inventions,  and  it  was  in 
costly  pursuit  of  impracticable  mechan 
ical  ideas  that  he  had  wasted  all  of  his 
large  earnings  and  bonuses.  His  wife 
had  died  when  Paul  was  little  more 
than  a  baby,  and  so  it  came  about  that 
Paul  had  always  been  more  at  home  in 
the  Martens  household  than  in  his 
father's  somewhat  haphazard  apart 
ments.  When  Paul  was  old  enough  to 
be  apprenticed  in  the  Works,  David 
Martens  advised  that  it  should  be  done, 
but  Richard  Josselyn  said  no.  He  could 
afford  to  give  his  son  a  good  education 
and  he  should  do  so.  Paul  should  go 
through  one  of  the  modern  scientific 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  215 

schools,  which  were  doing  so  much  to 
elevate  the  calling  of  mechanics.  David 
shook  his  head  over  this  decision,  but 
said  nothing,  for  he  was  a  genius  in  the 
matter  of  minding  his  own  business. 
He  was  not  so  silent,  however,  when 
Martha  declared  that  it  was  right  for 
them  to  send  Frances  to  a  woman's 
college.  Against  this  he  argued 
strongly.  He  was  a  mechanic  ;  Martha 
was  the  daughter  of  a  mechanic.  It 
would  be  presumptuous  in  them  to 
give  Frances  an  education  which  their 
parents  would  never  have  thought  of  in 
connection  with  a  mechanic's  child. 

Then  David  Martens  discovered  that 
the  comely  woman  who  had  been  un 
complaining  all  these  years  in  the  hard 
unrelieved  drudgery  of  life  imposed  by 
his  ideas  of  domestic  economy,  had  not 
only  very  different  but  very  decided 
views  regarding  their  child. 


2l6  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

"  You  may  say,  David  Martens,"  she 
said  to  him,  "  that  you  are  only  a  me 
chanic  and  you  always  will  say  that,  for 
you  are  proud  of  the  name,  but  you  are 
Superintendent  of  the  Works,  and  you 
may  be  a  director  one  day  ;  it's  not 
only  a  woman's  whim  that  must  decide 
you  in  this,  but  it's  your  duty — in  view 
of  your  position — your  duty  to  so 
ciety." 

David  looked  up  with  quick  inquiry 
at  this.  His  duty  to  society  was  a 
problem  which  had  never  vexed  him  ; 
he  was,  in  fact,  and  he  was  conscious  of 
it,  an  exemplary  member  of  society  as 
he  viewed  it  ;  he  voted  according  to  his 
honest  convictions,  paid  his  taxes  with 
out  protest,  attended  a  Church  which 
he  helped  to  support,  and  forever 
watched  over  the  Works.  Until  now 
it  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  he 
was  beholden  to  society  in  other  re- 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  217 

spects.  There  was  one  other  duty  he 
performed,  which,  in  a  narrow  sense, 
had  to  do  with  society,  but  which  to 
him  was  a  sore  penance  ;  that  was  to 
attend  with  Martha  the  annual  dinner 
given  by  the  President  of  the  Company 
at  his  house  to  the  Superintendent,  the 
foremen  and  their  wives.  He  recalled 
this  now  with  a  dubious  smile  : 

"  Is  it  things  like  the  annual  dinner 
you're  thinking  of,  Martha?" 

She  laughed  then  and  said,  "  Perhaps 
that  gave  me  the  thought,  David,  but 
when  you  become  a  director,  Frances 
and  I  will  go  to  the  directors'  dinners 
with  you,  and  she'll  be  as  fine  as  any  of 
their  wives  and  daughters  when  she 
comes  from  college." 

David  noted  the  words,  "  When  she 
comes  from  college,"  and  though  he 
was  no  great  student  of  the  feminine 
mind  in  general,  he  knew  Martha's  very 


21 8  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

well,  and  knew  then  that  in  the  end  he 
would  have  to  agree  with  her,  or  make 
her  very  unhappy.  So  like  a  wise  man 
he  let  his  wife  have  her  way  and 
Frances  went  to  college. 

When  she  was  graduated  her  father 
was  a  director,  a  fact  which  did  not 
overawe  the  daughter,  and  she  at  once 
set  about  re-adjusting  her  parents'  man 
ner  of  living  in  a  way  against  which 
they  but  feebly  protested.  Inside  of  a 
year  they  had  moved  into  a  more  pre 
tentious  house  in  a  more  fashionable 
quarter  of  the  city,  and  Mrs.  Martens 
had  two  servants  to  help  her  care  for 
the  house.  When  she  heard  of  the  in 
vitation  to  the  directors'  dinner  she 
asked  her  mother  if  her  father  still  per 
sisted  in  going  to  these  dinners  in  his 
old-fashioned  broadcloth  frock-coat. 
When  she  learned  that  David  was  still 
unregenerate  in  this  respect,  she  con- 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  219 

ducted  that  astonished  old  gentleman 
to  a  fashionable  tailor  and  had  the  de 
fects  of  his  wardrobe  supplied.  She 
was  a  tyrant,  but  there  was  no  rebellion 
against  her  tyranny.  Indeed,  father 
and  mother  Martens  were  very  proud, 
and  justly  so,  of  all  that  their  daughter 
was  and  all  that  she  did.  One  act  of 
hers  settled  forever  her  supremacy — 
not  in  their  love  for  her,  for  there  she 
had  always  been  supreme,  but  in  their 
pride  and  delight  in  her.  When  Paul 
came  home  from  the  School,  and  in 
stantly  and  violently  fell  in  love  with 
his  former  playmate,  and  she  as  in 
stantly  and  as  violently  fell  in  love  with 
him,  the  Martens  house  soon  became 
the  scene  of  much  youthful  gaiety. 
Both  of  the  young  people  had  been 
popular  in  their  classes,  and  their  class 
mates  made  the  nucleus  of  the  com 
pany  which  surrounded  Frances.  The 


220  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

first  time  she  told  her  father  and  mother 
that  a  number  of  her  friends  and  Paul's 
were  coming  to  the  house  on  a  certain 
night,  for  music  and  dancing  and  sup 
per,  they  acquiesced  and  aided  her  pre 
parations  ;  but  on  the  evening  of  the 
affair  Frances  suddenly  discovered  that 
her  parents  evidently  intended  not  to 
be  present  when  her  guests  came. 
Then  her  face  flushed  and  her  eyes 
flashed  :  "  Papa  and  mamma  Martens, 
what  do  you  mean  ?"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Why,  dear,"  stammered  her  mother, 
a  little  frightened  at  this  outburst, 
"we  thought  perhaps  you'd  enjoy  it 
more—  Then  she  stopped,  for  the 

girl  burst  out : 

"  I'm  having  my  friends  here  so  they 
can  see  what  a  lovely  mother  and 
father  I  have.  All  my  friends  know 
how  proud  I  am  of  you.  You  were  the 
handsomest  couple  at  the  directors' 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  221 

dinner  and  I  want  all  the  world  to 
know  it."  Then  she  burst  into  tears 
and  her  father  and  mother  dressed  to 
receive  her  guests. 

Paul  was  not  ignorant  of  the  loving 
tyranny  his  sweetheart  exercised  over 
her  parents,  so  he  was  a  confident  lover 
when  he  went  to  David  Martens  and 
asked  his  consent  to  their  marriage. 
David  said  he  had  no  objections,  but 
that  before  Paul  could  marry  Frances 
he  must  show  that  he  understood  one 
science  which  had  not  been  taught  at 
the  School — the  science  of  saving 
money.  Paul  was  almost  as  elated  as 
if  he  had  secured  an  unconditional  con 
sent.  That  was  six  months  before  the 
night  of  his  return  from  Baltimore — it 
was  just  when  he  had  been  put  on  the 
full  pay-roll  of  the  Works.  He  saved 
fifty  dollars  the  first  month  and  then  he 
fell  into  sudden  despair,  for  although 


222  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

he  knew  his  position  would  soon  be  bet 
tered,  he  could  not  hope  to  save  the  full 
thousand  dollars  within  the  year,  and  to 
wait  a  year  was  impossible  !  That  night 
his  hopes  were  raised  again  by  his  talk 
with  Frances.  She  told  him  that  her 
mother  was  their  advocate  with  her 
father.  This  seemed  so  hopeful  to  both 
of  them  that  they  agreed  it  would  not  be 
improvident  for  Paul  to  expend  his  sav 
ings  for  a  new  dress  suit  to  wear  at  his 
class  dinner  over  which  he  was  to  pre 
side. 

David  Martens  was  a  proud  man 
when  at  the  lunch  hour  the  day  after 
that  class  dinner  he  heard  several  of 
the  foremen  gravely  congratulating 
Paul  upon  the  fine  position  he  had  made 
for  himself  in  the  world.  The  young 
man  was  a  great  favorite  with  the  work 
men  and  foremen,  and  they  predicted  a 
great  success  for  him  in  the  Works  ;  so 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  223 

they  were  honestly  glad  and  told  him 
so,  that  one  of  their  own  members,  who 
held  himself  no  better  than  they,  in 
spite  of  his  education,  should  be  spoken 
of  in  the  newspapers  as  presiding  at  a 
class  dinner  in  a  fashionable  hotel. 

But  week  after  week  went  by,  and 
then  month  after  month  and  Paul  grew 
desperate  as  he  confronted  again  and 
again  his  penniless  condition.  Some 
times  it  was  a  bunch  of  roses  for  Fran 
ces,  or  a  box  of  bon-bons,  or  seats  at  a 
theatre  where  their  young  companions 
were  going  in  a  party,  seldom  any  in 
dulgence  for  himself  alone,  yet  in  the 
end  the  same  condition  resulted — an 
other  month  was  begun  with  no  savings 
in  hand.  Again  and  again  he  scolded 
himself  and  made  stern  resolutions. 
Frances  and  he  talked  over  their  un 
happy  lot  with  more  than  the  frankness 
of  lovers,  because  they  had  always  been 


224  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

playfellows,  and  she  schemed  to  aid 
him  in  his  savings,  and  yet  she  was 
happy  when  the  spendthrift's  flowers 
would  come  to  tell  her  that  he  thought 
of  her  in  his  absence. 

Paul  appealed  again  to  David  Mar 
tens.  He  was  so  unhappy  he  told  the 
old  mechanic  that  he  could  not  do  him 
self  justice  at  the  Works.  No  matter 
what  his  work  was,  a  calculation  involv 
ing  only  the  tables  of  figures  with  which 
he  was  most  familiar,  or  a  new  calcula 
tion  to  which  he  must  apply  the  most 
advanced  theory  he  had  studied ;  a 
simple  measurement,  or  a  demonstra 
tion  of  tensional  strength,  whatever  he 
was  given  to  do  was  so  involved  with 
the  still  greater  problem  of  saving  one 
thousand  dollars  that  his  training  was 
nought.  That  problem  paralyzed  the 
strength  of  his  mind.  Would  not  Mr. 
Martens  relent  ?  Could  he  not  see  the 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  225 

sense  of  it — the  justice  of  it  ?  Why 
plague  him  with  this  demand  now  ? 
He  would  rise  in  the  Works,  he  would 
soon  be  in  a  position  where  a  thousand 
dollars  would  not  be  so  great  a  matter. 
He  loved  Frances  and  Frances  loved 
him  ;  it  was  cruel  to  keep  them  apart. 
So  the  young  man  urged  impetuously. 
But  the  old  man  said  "  No  !"  He  had 
not  set  a  hard  task  for  Paul.  It  was 
not  the  young  man's  actual  possession 
of  a  thousand  dollars  in  itself,  but  he 
did  insist  upon  some  evidence  that  Paul 
knew  what  money  meant  and  would 
understand  its  value.  Frances  would 
inherit  what  to  people  in  their  walk  of 
life  was  a  large  fortune,  yet  vastly 
larger  fortunes  had  been  dissipated  in 
a  few  years  by  men  whose  only  faults 
were  by  some  considered  commendable 
virtues.  He  would  not  risk  his  daugh 
ter's  future  happiness.  He  insisted 


226  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

upon  his  terms.  In  this  David  Martens 
was  resolute.  His  wife,  his  daughter, 
had  no  more  success  in  their  endeavors 
to  alter  his  mind  than  had  Paul. 

The  \vork  in  Baltimore  had  kept  Paul 
there  for  a  week,  and  \vhen  it  was  fin 
ished  and  well  done,  and  he  had  been 
congratulated  upon  it,  he  hurried  to  the 
station  and  waited  eagerly  for  the  train 
that  would  carry  him  to  New  York,  to 
Frances!  The  train  he  entered  was 
nearly  filled,  for  it  was  a  through  one 
from  the  South,  and  Paul  passed  by 
several  seats  which  contained  one  pas 
senger  only,  but  was  otherwise  filled 
with  the  passenger's  hand-luggage,  be 
fore  he  came  to  one  where  sat  a  young 
man  who  held  his  traveling-bag  on  his 
knees,  and  Paul  seated  himself  by  his 
side,  laying  his  own  hand-bag  on  the 
floor  at  his  feet.  They  had  not  traveled 
far  before  Paul  became  conscious  that 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  227 

his  neighbor  was  laboring  under  great 
excitement.  He  started  whenever  the 
conductor  passed  through  the  car,  and 
at  the  few  stations  where  they  stopped 
he  watched  the  doors  of  the  car  appre 
hensively.  Paul  might  have  given  this 
more  thought  had  he  not  been  en 
grossed  otherwise  and  more  pleasantly 
in  re-reading  the  letters  he  had  received 
from  Frances  during  his  absence,  and 
therefore  only  occasionally  regarded 
his  companion  when  the  latter  made 
an  unusual  start  of  apprehension  or 
nervousness. 

But  suddenly,  without  an  instant's 
warning,  thoughts  of  his  neighbor,  of 
his  letters,  of  all  things  were  driven  out 
of  Paul's  head  by  an  awful  crash. 
Whether  it  was  one  or  five  minutes 
later  Paul  never  knew.  He  regained  con 
sciousness,  and  found  himself  lying  on 
the  side  of  the  overturned  car  in  a 


228  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

tangle  and  confusion  of  men  and  bag 
gage.  There  were  shouts  of  fright, 
shrieks  of  pain,  prayers,  curses,  and 
moans  of  the  dying.  His  experiences 
as  a  football  player  helped  Paul  at  that 
moment,  and  indeed,  through  his  still 
half-dazed  mind,  and  before  he  had 
realized  what  the  accident  was,  a  whim 
sical  recollection  of  a  certain  hard  scrim 
mage  on  a  football  field  came  to  him 
vividly.  Then,  before  he  made  any 
bodily  effort  to  extricate  himself,  he 
proceeded  with  some  calmness  to  satisfy 
himself  that  his  injuries  had  not  de 
prived  him  of  all  his  physical  powers. 
Then  he  cautiously  extricated  himself 
and  without  much  trouble,  and  con 
cluded,  as  he  was  doing  so,  that  he  had 
been  knocked  senseless  by  being  struck 
in  the  head  by  a  piece  of  flying  bag 
gage.  At  this  thought  he  instinctively 
looked  about  for  his  own  hand-bag,  for 


WHEN    A    MAN   JUDGES.  229 

it  contained  some  valuable  mechanical 
plans.  He  found  it  near  at  hand, 
grasped  it  and  then  discovered  that  a 
window  on  the  side  of  the  car  above  him 
had  been  broken  clear  of  its  glass  and 
rescuers  were  already  there  and  shout 
ing  to  him  to  climb  nearer  so  that  they 
could  pull  him  out.  In  another  minute 
he  had  been  dragged  out  of  the  car  and 
lowered  down  to  the  ground.  There 
his  eye  took  in  the  extent  and  the 
cause  of  the  accident.  A  cross-line 
train  had  smashed  into  the  one  car  be 
hind  that  in  which  he  rode,  and  seem 
ingly  had  utterly  demolished  it.  His 
car  had  been  overturned  but  not  greatly 
damaged,  but  he  had  escaped  from  a 
horrible  danger  which  he  now  saw 
threatened  those  who  were  still  in  the 
overturned  coach.  The  engine  which 
had  cut  through  the  rear  car  had  set  it 
on  fire,  and  the  flames  were  rapidly 


230  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

approaching  the  coach  from  which  he 
had  just  escaped.  He  had  complete 
possession  of  his  faculties  now,  and 
tossing  his  hand-bag  by  the  side  of  a 
pile  of  ties  stacked  like  cord  wood  near 
by,  he  rushed  to  the  assistance  of  those 
who  were  endeavoring  to  save  his  fel 
low  passengers.  Paul  was  powerful 
and  agile,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was 
directing  and  leading  the  work  of  res 
cue.  He  was  down  again  in  the  ruins 
of  the  car  and  had  passed  out  several 
unconscious  forms  when  he  wras  warned 
to  make  his  own  escape  good,  as  the 
fire  had  caught  the  end  of  the  coach  he 
was  working  in. 

"  There  is  one  man  wedged  in  there 
I  want  to  try  to  get  out  !"  he  answered 
back,  and  returned  to  the  spot  where 
he  had  noticed  the  man  whose  seat  he 
had  shared.  The  man  was  unconscious, 
probably  already  dead,  but  Paul  strug- 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  23! 

gled  with  all  his  magnificent  strength 
to  release  the  form  which  was  impris 
oned  beneath  broken  seats  and  torn 
and  twisted  flooring,  and  only  ceased 
when  he  was  driven  back  by  the  flame 
and  smoke. 

The  people  cheered  the  young  ath 
lete  as  he  emerged  from  the  car,  black 
ened,  cut  and  bruised  as  he  was,  and  a 
doctor  took  him  by  the  arm  and  said, 
"  You've  done  good  work,  young  man, 
but  you  need  a  little  of  my  attention 
yourself.  Come !" 

He  led  Paul  back  to  the  pile  of  ties, 
and  there  bathed  and  roughly  dressed 
his  wounds,  the  worst  of  which,  on  his 
temple,  was  not  serious,  and  was  caused 
probably  by  the  blow  which  had  first 
knocked  him  senseless.  When  this  was 
finished  the  people  were  driven  back 
from  the  car  by  the  heat  of  the  flames, 
and  Paul,  picking  up  his  satchel,  went 


232  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

with  the  other  passengers  to  one  of  the 
forward  cars  which  had  not  been  injured 
nor  even  derailed.  There  the  conduc 
tor  came  to  him,  thanked  him  for  what 
he  had  done  and  took  his  name  and 
address. 

When -he  reached  New  York  he  has 
tened  to  his  room,  where  he  changed 
his  torn  clothing,  and  removed  as  much 
as  possible  the  evidences  of  disaster 
and  then  went  to  David  Marten's 
home. 

The  next  morning  David  Martens 
called  at  Paul's  room,  shrewdly  antici 
pating  what  he  found  to  be  the  case, 
the  young  man  was  not  able  to  leave 
his  bed.  He  himself  declared  he  was 
fit  and  wanted  to  go  to  the  Works  with 
David,  but  the  railroad  company's  doc 
tor,  already  there,  ordered  that  Paul 
should  remain  in  bed  ;  there  was  dan 
ger  of  fever  he  said,  and  the  patient 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  233 

must  rest  quietly  for  a  day  or  two, 
His  medical  treatment  would  be  free 
and  the  railroad  company  would  gladly 
make  up  his  loss  of  wages. 

So  Paul  submitted  and  David  Mar 
tens  went  on  alone  to  the  Works,  buy 
ing  a  bundle  of  morning  papers  in  which 
he  read  with  much  pride  the  account 
of  Paul's  gallant  work  of  rescue,  where 
Paul  was  described  as  a  young  mechan 
ical  engineer  of  great  promise  in  his 
profession. 

"  I  wish,"  sighed  David,  "  that  Paul 
had  saved  that  thousand  dollars." 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Martens  had  divined 
that  David  would  have  some  such 
thought  as  this,  that  her  husband's  heart 
would  be  softened  toward  Paul  by  the 
danger  he  had  gone  through,  the  injur 
ies  he  had  received  and  the  conspicuous 
display  he  had  made  of  his  bravery  and 
his  strength,  but  the  Superintendent 


234  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

was  obdurate.  He  remained  obdurate 
the  next  day  under  a  stronger  pressure 
than  he  had  yet  been  subjected  to  in 
this  trial  of  his  affections.  Mrs.  Mar 
tens  and  Frances  had  been  to  see  Paul 
and  the  doctor  was  there.  He  was  a 
wise  physician  and  a  sympathetic  man, 
and  he  realized  the  value,  in  making  a 
diagnosis,  of  learning  as  much  as  pos 
sible  of  a  patient's  mental  as  well  as 
physical  condition,  and  something  of 
the  former  had  puzzled  him  in  Paul's 
case.  He  was  sympathetic,  I  have  said, 
and  it  was  by  the  exercise  of  this  valu 
able  quality  that  he  was  enabled  to 
learn,  while  not  the  exact  fact,  pretty 
nearly  the  truth  regarding  the  relation 
between  Paul  and  Frances,  and  he 
hinted  to  Mrs.  Martens  that  he  would 
have  his  patient  as  fit  as  could  be  wished 
for,  if  he  could  relieve  him  from  the 
cause  of  his  mental  worry.  That  eve- 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  235 

ning  David  Martens  had  this  phase  of 
the  case  presented  to  him  by  his  wife 
and  daughter  in  a  manner  which  moved 
the  old  mechanic  deeply,  but  it  did  not 
move  him  enough  to  make  him  come  to 
their  way  of  thinking. 

Paul,  alone  in  his  room,  amused  him 
self  with  reading  the  almost  endless 
columns  of  description  the  papers 
printed  about  the  disaster,  and  that 
evening  he  was  keenly  interested  in  a 
story  developed  by  the  latest  editions. 
It  was  told  that  the  messenger  of  a 
Washington  bank  had  been  identified 
as  one  of  the  victims  whose  body  had 
been  nearly  consumed  by  the  burning 
of  the  overturned  car.  The  messenger, 
on  the  day  of  the  accident,  in  pursuance 
of  a  duty  he  had  performed  daily  for  a 
number  of  years,  had  taken  from  the 
bank  a  satchel,  containing  forty  thou 
sand  dollars  in  greenbacks,  which  he 


236  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

was  expected  to  deliver  at  the  office  of 
an  express  company  in  Washington,  for 
forwarding  to  a  New  York  bank.  In 
stead  of  doing  so  the  messenger  had 
boarded  the  doomed  train,  as  subse 
quent  developments  proved,  and  had 
been  killed  in  the  accident.  The  iden 
tification  of  his  body  had  been  absolute, 
and  the  money,  consumed  by  the  flames, 
a  total  loss  to  the  bank,  as  nothing  re 
mained  of  the  satchel  and  its  contents, 
except  the  steel  frame  of  a  handbag 
found  near  the  remnants  of  the  body. 

Paul  felt  certain  from  the  minute 
description  given  of  the"  unfortunate 
messenger,  that  he  was  the  young  man 
with  whom  he  had  shared  a  seat  in  the 
day  coach,  and  whose  body  the 
approaching  flames  had  forced  him  to 
abandon. 

This  story  impressed  upon  Paul  for 
the  first  time  the  dreadfulness  of  the 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  237 

accident  he  had  been  through.  Until 
then  it  had  seemed  to  him  by  some 
trick  of  his  mind  something  with 
which  he  had  not  been  personally 
associated,  but  now  the  delayed  realiza 
tion  coming  to  him  as  he  was,  depressed 
by  fever  and  loneliness,  and  more  than 
all  heart-sore  and  despondent  because 
of  what  seemed  to  him  the  cruelty  of 
David  Martens'  unrelinquished  posi 
tion  about  his  engagement  to  Frances, 
oppressed  him  until  it  seemed  to  him 
that  life  was  wholly  without  hope. 
Happily  it  is  the  dower  of  youth  to 
fight  successfully  against  even  the 
uttermost  depression,  and  Paul  began 
this  fight  now,  first  by  laughing  at  him 
self,  rather  dolorously  to  be  sure.  He 
told  himself  he  was  a  fool  to  abide  by  the 
doctor's  advice,  he  needed  change  and 
companionship,  he  said,  and  he  would 
dress  and  go  and  see  Frances.  He  did 


238  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULT. 

dress  and  was  about  to  leave  his  room 
when  he  discovered  that  apparently  his 
total  financial  resources  consisted  of 
the  one  five-cent  piece  he  found  in  his 
pocket.  His  expenses  to  Baltimore 
would  be  coming  to  him  from  the 
Works,  but  that  did  not  solve  the 
immediate  problem  of  how  he  was 
going  to  get  to  David  Martens'  house 
and  back.  It  was  too  far  for  him  to 
walk  in  his  weakened  condition. 
"  True,"  he  said,  laughing  bitterly, 
"  I  have  car  fare  one  way  and  I  might 
borrow  the  other  necessary  nickel 
from  the  man  who  wants  me  to  show 
a  thousand  dollars  in  savings  for  a  very 
particular  reason." 

He  was  lashing  himself  with  re 
proaches  when  it  suddenly  occurred  to 
him  that  he  had  put  a  few  dollars  in 
bills  in  his  satchel  with  his  plans  and 
other  papers,  and  he  drew  the  leather 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  239 

bag  out  of  the  wardrobe  into  which  he 
had  thrown  it  the  night  he  returned. 
Its  regular  key  would  not  unlock  it 
and  he  tried  several  before  he  suc 
ceeded.  He  ceased  wondering  over 
this,  and  ceased  with  a  shock  when, 
upon  opening  the  bag,  he  saw  that  it 
contained  only  a  neatly  contrived  pack 
age,  sealed  with  red  wax,  and  addressed 
to  the  New  York  bank  for  which  the 
missing  package  of  money  from  Wash 
ington  was  destined.  The  simple 
explanation  flashed  upon  him  at  once. 
In  the  crash  of  the  accident  which  had 
sent  men  and  baggage  flying,  the  mes 
senger's  satchel,  a  duplicate  of  his,  had 
landed  near  him,  indeed  had  probably 
been  the  missile  which  had  reminded 
him  of  the  time  he  was  kicked  in  the 
head  in  a  football  scrimmage.  Then 
Paul  sat  for  a  long  time  in  a  half 
daze.  First  came  a  terrible  tumult  of 


240  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

thoughts  out  of  which  he  could  not 
force  his  mind  to  relate  anything 
plainly,  and  then  at  last  unbidden, 
fiercely  contended  against,  came  the 
thought :  "  This  money  and  the  man 
who  stole  it  are  supposed  to  have  been 
destroyed.  It  is  a  loss  which  amounts 
to  but  little  beyond  a  record  in  book 
keeping,  the  writing  off  of  this  amount 
to  profit  and  loss  on  the  books  of  one 
the  richest  banks  in  the  world."  He 
recalled  that  not  long  before  the  papers 
had  been  filled  with  accounts  of  a  great 
financial  transaction  of  national  import, 
by  which  that  bank  had  profited  more 
than  a  hundred  times  the  amount 
which  lay  snugly  wrapped  up  in  the 
brown  paper  package.  It  would  be 
lost  to  be  sure — indeed  was  it  not 
already  lost  ?  by  men  who,  though 
they  had  lost  it,  would  never  miss  it. 
But  what  would  its  possession  mean  to 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  241 

another  :  to  a  man  in  love  who  could 
not  marry  for  the  want  of  one-fortieth 
part  of  what  lay  there  snugly  in  its 
brown  paper  package  ? 

He  started  to  lift  the  package  from 
the  bag  but  as  his  finger-tips  touched 
it  he  recoiled  with  a  cry.  He  was  still 
sitting  there  gazing  at  the  package 
when  the  daylight  came  in  through  the 
window.  He  waited  until  he  supposed 
the  bank  would  be  open,  and  then,  tak 
ing  the  satchel,  he  rode  down  town, 
reached  the  bank  and  asked  to  see  the 
president.  "  What  is  your  business 
with  the  president?"  asked  the  man  he 
had  inquired  of. 

"  I  wish  to  see  him  in  relation  to  the 
forty  thousand  dollars  which  was  sup 
posed  to  have  been  lost  the  other  day," 
answered  Paul  faintly. 

In  a  minute  the  astonished  clerk  led 
Paul  into  the  president's  office.  That 


242  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

official  regarded  Paul's  haggard  face 
with  some  suspicion,  and  then  was  evi 
dently  frightened  when  he  saw  the 
satchel  in  his  hand. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?"  he  asked 
sharply. 

"  I  want  you  to  examine  the  con 
tents  of  the  package  in  this  satchel,  to 
count  the  money  it  contains,  and  give 
me  a  receipt  for  it." 

There  was  no  doubt  now  in  the  presi 
dent's  mind  that  he  was  dealing  with 
an  insane  person,  but  he  gave  a  quick 
order  to  some  clerks  to  open  the  pack 
age,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  money 
had  been  opened,  sorted  and  counted. 
The  package  itself  had  been  recognized 
as  the  missing  one,  and  when  this  had 
been  called  to  the  president's  attention, 
he  turned  to  Paul  and  said  harshly  : 

"  Now,  sir,  explain  your  possession  of 
this  money." 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  243 

"  I  was  about  to  do  so,"  Paul  said, 
"  I  was  on  the  wrecked  train.  I 
believe  I  sat  by  the  side  of  the  mes 
senger.  I  had  a  satchel  with  me  like 
this,  and  in  my  escape  took  this,  sup 
posing  it  to  be  mine.  I  did  not  dis 
cover  the  mistake  until  last  night." 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  the  president  asked, 
eyeing  Paul  curiously  now,  but  it  was 
evident  from  his  tone  that  he  was  con 
vinced  of  the  truth  of  the  story. 

"  My  name  is  Paul  Josselyn." 

"Oh  yes,  we  read  about  your  heroic 
deeds  at  the  wreck." 

Paul  did  not  reply  to  this.  He  was 
leaning  rather  heavily  upon  the  desk 
before  which  he  stood. 

"  Now  this  is  most  extraordinary," 
continued  the  official.  "  We  never 
should  have  searched  for  this  package. 
We  were  convinced  that  it  was  burned. 
We  had  already  charged  up  the  loss, 


244  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

for,  you  understand,  the  Washington 
bank  is  merely  our  agent,  and  the  loss 
fell  on  us." 

Paul  seemed  not  to  be  paying  much 
attention.  "  If  you  will  give  me  a 
receipt  showing  I  have  delivered  the 
package  to  you  I  believe  I  will  go,"  he 
said. 

"  But  not  without  a  reward,"  the 
bank  president  said,  heartily  now,  and, 
after  a  glance  at  Paul,  he  motioned  to 
a  clerk  to  push  a  chair  for  him. 

"  I  do  not  wish  any  reward,"  Paul 
said  leaning  on  the  chair  as  he  started 
towards  the  door. 

"  Nonsense  !"  exclaimed  the  presi 
dent.  "  We  never  expected  to  see  a 
dollar  of  this.  It  is  as  if  we  had 
picked  the  money  up  in  the  street. 
Now — a — "  here  the  president  hesitated 
a  moment  and  then  added,  "  I  believe 
I  am  at  liberty  to  say  that  the  direc- 


WHEN    A    MAN    JUDGES.  245 

tors  will  warrant  me  in  giving  you  five 
thousand  dollars  of  this." 

"  No,"  said  Paul,  again  starting  to 
ward  the  door,  "  I  will  accept  no  re 
ward."  And  then  he  added  with  a 
little  laugh,  "  But  if  you  had  said  one 
thousand  dollars  it  might  have  inter 
ested  me." 

The  president  began  an  expostula 
tion,  but  stopped  suddenly,  for  Paul 
dropped  to  the  floor  in  a  faint. 

The  president  of  the  works  was  a 
director  in  that  bank,  and  that  after 
noon  he  told  David  Martens  how  Paul 
returned  the  money,  as  the  story  was 
told  him  by  the  bank  president. 

In  the  evening  David  went  to  Paul's 
room  and  he  found  the  doctor  there, 
troubled.  Paul  was  sleeping  restlessly, 
and  the  doctor  said  to  Mr.  Martens  : 

•'I  should  not  like  to  have  you 
waken  my  patient  unless  "  —  and  he 


246  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

looked  straight  and  significantly  into 
into  the  superintendent's  eyes,  "  unless 
you  have  something  cheerful,  agreeable 
you  understand,  for  him  to  hear." 
David  Martens  regarded  the  doctor 
thoughtfully  and  then  said  : 

"  I  think,  sir,  I'll  chance  waking  him." 

What  he  said  to  the  invalid  was  this  : 

"  Paul,  you   must   be  getting  well  soon 

and    come   up   to   the  house  to   fix  the 

wedding-day  with  Frances." 


X 
POLLY  SLANGUER'S  TROUSSEAU. 


THE  Major  was  late  for  afternoon  tea 
with  Mrs.  Max. 

Possibly  an  explanation  is  required— 
not  why  he  was  late,  for  the  reason  of 
that  tells  this  story— but  why  he  takes 
tea,  and  with  Mrs.  Max. 

"  I  will  argue  with  no  man,"  said  the 
Major,  to  Mrs.  Jack  Daring,  who  was 
present  that  afternoon,  and  who,  hap 
pily  for  the  reader,  had  asked  these 
very  explanations,  for  I  find  two  are 
required,  "  I  will  argue  with  no  man  or 
woman  on  my  dictum  that  whiskey 
should  never  be  partaken  of — until  after 
dinner.  The  American  male — human 
— is  addicted  to  the  cocktail  habit  be- 

[249] 


250  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

fore  dinner.  Tea,  my  dear  Mrs.  Max, 
is  not  only  an  admirable  substitute,  but 
its  consumption  before  dinner  leaves 
unrequisitioned  our  total  capacity  for 
whiskey  and  water  until  its  proper  time 
for  exercise — after  dinner." 

"  When  he  talks  like  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Max,  "  I  know  he  has  something  on 
his  mind.  But  what  in  ever  Polly 
Slanguer  ordered  her  trousseau  by  cable 
for,  I'm  sure  !" 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Max,"  said  Mrs.  Jack 
plaintively,  "if  the  Major  has  anything 
on  his  mind  don't  suggest  it  to  him.  I 
love  him  most  when 
he  talks  about 
nothing." 

Mrs.  Max  smiled 
contentedly,  poured 
two  spoonsful  of 
tea  over  three  large 
lumps  of  sugar  and 


POLLY  SLANGUER'S  TROUSSEAU.      251 

devoted  herself  to  sipping  the  result 
ant  sir  op  dc  the,  as  the  Major  con 
tinued  : 

"  Besides  the  physical,  I  may  say  the 
physiological,  aspect  of  this  case,  there 
is  another  which  suggests  itself  to  my 
mind;  it  pertains  to  social  ethics.  The 
American  husband  and  wife  directly 
they  are  one  begin  to  become  two.  In 
married  life  they  see  each  other  at 
breakfast,  when  the  husband  devotes 
himself  to  his  newspaper  and  the  wife 
to  the  concoction  of  coffee.  They  see 
each  other  at  dinner  when  they  are  en 
tertaining  guests  or  are  being  enter 
tained  as  guests,  and  consequently 
seated  as  far  apart  as  possible.  Unless 
the  American  husband  adopts,  a?  I  have 
done,  the  English  custom  of  afternoon 
tea,  he  soon  accomplishes  what  my 
friend  Ambrose  Bierce  has  called  a 
*  disintroduction  '  to  his  wife.  There- 


252  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

fore,  my  dear  Mrs.  Max — kindly  add  a 
drop  of  rum  to  my  tea,  it  is  over  redo 
lent  of  lemon — therefore,  the  husband 
should  daily  take  tea  with  his  wife,  thus 
to  renew  and  continue  the  romance  of 
their  days  of  courtship." 

Mrs.  Max  dipped  from  the  bottom  of 
her  tea  cup  a  portion  of  moistened 
sugar  and  administered  it  to  the  setter 
dog,  who  received  this  daily  tribute  to 
his  manifold  excellences  with  a  becom 
ing  display  of  chivalrous  gratitude. 
Then  Mrs.  Max  remarked  : 

'Til  tell  you,  Mrs.  Jack,  why  the 
Major  always  comes  home  to  tea.  He 
can't  wait  any  longer  than  that  to  learn 
the  latest  scandals  I  have  heard  from 
you." 

"  The  latest  scandals  about  me,  you 
mean,  my  dear." 

"  No,"  the  Major  remarked  judicial 
ly,  "  I  hear  those  from  Jack." 


POLLY  SLANGUER'S  TROUSSEAU.       253 

"He  only  pretends  to  know,"  Mrs. 
Jack  said  confidentially.  "  I  try  to  tell 
Jack  the  scandals  about  me  but  he  won't 
listen.  He  says  they  bore  him,  though 
I  try  my  best  to  provide  a  quality  that 
ought  to  interest  him.  I  really  should 
have  married  you,  Major." 

"Why?"  asked  Mrs.  Max,  assisting 
the  setter  in  a  dignified  effort  to  balance 
the  teaspoon  on  his  nose. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  pouted  Mrs. 
Jack,  "  perhaps  because  I  think  I  could 
have  shocked  the  Major.  Have  you 
told  him  that  Polly  Slanguer  ordered 
her  trousseau  by  cable?" 

"  Some  one  spoke  of  it,"  the  Major 
said,  "  and  somehow  that  reminds  me 
— I  suppose  because  it  is  so  unlike — of 
the  reason  I  am  late  for  tea  to-day.  I 
have  been  slumming." 

"  Slumming  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Max, 
looking  up  with  surprise. 


254  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

"  Yes,  going  about  among  the  poorest 
tenements,"  the  Major  explained. 

"  Oh,  that's  Fanny  Van  Cortlandt's 
game,"  Mrs.  Jack  remarked  knowingly. 
"  She  works  it  very  cleverly,  too.  She 
gives  people  gruel — I  think  it's  gruel, 
bujxit  may  be  guava  jelly.  It  makes 
ner  interesting  to  a  lot  of  men.  It's 
rather  clever  for  a  girl  as  good  looking 
as  Fannie  is." 

The  Major  winked  largely  at  the  set 
ter  dog,  who  came  over  and  put  his  big 
paws  on  the  Major's  knees. 

"  The  slums  ?"  mused  Mrs.  Max,  "  I 
remember  them  now.  They  write  plays 
about  them,  or  do  they  sing  in  the 
streets  in  the  slums?  It's  something 
like  that  I  know." 

"  They  may  sing  in  the  slums,"  said 
the  Major  thoughtfully,  "  I  daresay 
they  do,  but  I  happened  nottoencounter 
the  singing  kind  to-day." 


POLLY  SLANGUER'S  TROUSSEAU.      255 

Mrs.  Max  looked  up  quickly.  She 
knows  the  Major's  moods  by  his  voice, 
though  she  does  not  always  acknowl 
edge  them. 

"  Why  were  you  in  the  slums  to-day, 
dear?"  she  asked  simply. 

"  I  went,"  replied  the  Major  after  a 
pause,  u  because  I  wished  to  acquaint 
myself  with  facts  which  should  guide 
us  in  giving  wisely  what  we  give  in 
charity.  Some  people  have  established 
in  the  slums  a  station  for  the  distribu 
tion  of  free  food.  I  have  heard  the 
wisdom  of  such  charity  disputed  so  I 
went  to  investigate  for  myself.  It  is 
not  a  pleasant  sight,  mesdames,  to  see 
men  and  women  and  children  actually 
suffering  for  the  \vant  of  any  kind  of 
food,  even  when  one  does  not  know 
any  of  the  sufferers,  personally." 

"And  of  course  one  never  does,"  re 
marked  Mrs,  Max  comfortably. 


256  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

"  That  is  the  droll  part  of  my  experi 
ence,"  the  Major  continued,  "  which  I 
was  about  to  relate.  By  the  way,  did 
the  vintage  champagne  come  to-day  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  I  have  ordered  some  of  it 
cooled,"  Mrs.  Max  said  almost  with 
haste,  perhaps  relieved  at  the  more 
agreeable  trend  of  the  Major's  conver 
sation.  "  Polly  Slanguer  is  so  eccen 
tric  !" 

"  To  be  sure.  Tell  us  about  Polly 
and  her  cabled  trousseau,"  the  Major 
said,  patting  the  setter's  head. 

"  Oh  hang  Polly  Slanguer  and  her 
trousseau  !"  interrupted  Mrs.  Jack  Dar 
ing  in  a  manner  which  made  Mrs.  Max 
looked  up  at  her  with  arched  eyebrows 
of  surprise  ;  then  she  said  : 

"  Pardon  me,  Major.  *  I  did  not 
mean  to  interrupt  you.  I  can  see  you 
were  really  interested  in  the— what  was 
it  ?—  oh,  the  slums," 


POLLY    SLANGUER  S    TROUSSEAU. 


257 


"  It  is  scarcely  worth  speaking  about, 
and  I  should  not  trouble  you,  except 
that  I  need  your  help^advice — about 
a  friend  I  met  there  to-day." 

"  Major  !  A  friend  in  the — the 
slums  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Max  aghast. 

"  I  think  I  am  justified  in  saying  that 
he  is  one  of  my  best  friends,  as  he  saved 
my  life  at  the  risk  of  his  own  more  than 
once." 

All  thoughts  of  Polly  and  her  trous 


seau  by  cable  were  now  banished  from 
Mrs.    Max's  mind.     She  went  over   to 


258  NEAR    A    WHOLE    CITY    FULL. 

the  Major  and  sat  on   the   arm   of  his 
chair.     "  Tell  me,"  she  said. 

"  You  have  heard  me  speak  many 
times  of  a  Sergeant  who  was  with  me  in 
my  company,  when  we  were  fighting 
Indians  ?  The  soldiers  called  him 
'  Parson.'  " 

•'  The  man  who  rode  forty  miles  to 
get  the  material  for  a  Christmas  punch 
for  you  and  Bob  Billings  ?" 

"  That  is  the  man.  Well,  to-day  I 
visited  that  *  relief  station/  as  it  is 
called,  and  saw  at  a  glance  that  most  of 
those  receiving  food  were  not  only  cold, 
ill-clad  and  poor,  but  went  there  actu 
ally  hungry.  It  was  a  sight  not  calcu 
lated  to  make  one  wholly  content,  and 
— by  the  way,  that  vintage  champagne 
arrived  to-day?  Good,  we'll  have  it 
served  at  dinner.  What  was  I  saying  ? 
I  was  about  to  leave  the  place  when  a 
man  who  was  devouring  a  plate  of  food 


POLLY  SLANGUER'S  TROUSSEAU.      259 

with  the  eagerness  it  is  not  nice  to  see, 
as  I  was  saying,  in  a  fellow  human 
being,  suddenly  straightened  to  'atten 
tion  '  and  gave  me  a  salute — the  army 
salute.  It  was  a  minute  before  I  recog 
nized  the  Parson." 

"  Major,  the  man  who  saved  your  life, 
poor,  hungry  !" 

"  I  took  him  away  with  me,  and  when 
I  asked  him  for  his  story  the  big  fellow 
cried.  Yet  it  is  such  a  simple  story  ! 
He  had  been  refused  re-enlistment,  as 
he  was  physically  unfit.  Not  from 
wounds,  but  from  the  effect  of  exposure 
in  that  Indian  campaign.  He  is  a  car 
penter  by  trade,  a  native  American,  a 
God  fearing  man — you  said  some  of  the 
new  wine  had  been  put  on  ice  ?  Ah  ! 
It  is  so  very  simple  it  is  scarcely  worth 
telling.  He  could  not  find  work  ;  he 
did  not  know  how  to  beg  ;  he  was  nearly 
starved  ;  his  pride  kept  him  from  ap- 


260  NEAR    A    \\HOLE    CITY    FULL. 

plying  to  me,  and  I  found  him  by 
chance  at  the  place  where  he  was  eating 
the  first  meal  he  had  had  in  days." 

"The  poor,  dear  man  !  Where  is  he 
now?" 

"  I  was  about  to  tell  you.  He  is  in 
the  kitchen  telling  the  cook  campaign 
stories  about  me,  and  eating  a  square 
meal  after  each  story.  Can  we  not  em 
ploy  him  about  the  place  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear,  for  the  rest  of  his  life  ; 
but  not  until  he  has  told  campaign 
stories  and  eaten  square  meals  for  a 
month." 

"  You  were  saying  that  the  wine — 

"  Let's  send  a  bottle  of  it  out  to  the 
dear  old  Parson,"  Mrs.  Jack  suggested. 


THE   END. 


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